A Shot In The Dark
by secretwriter18
Summary: "I promised I would be there, I swear I'm on my way. I know you may not hear me, but that's the price I'll pay."
1. Chapter 1

**A/n:**

**So. Hi. It's been a long time since I've posted anything and for that I have a million and one reasonable excuses. But I won't waste your time with them. Instead, I'm going to offer you this story and hope you like it.**

**Also, a fair warning: there will be profanity and homophobic slander in this story. If you don't like either, just skip to the next story.**

**And if you do read this, please enjoy-and then review :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot line and the original characters.**

For someone who came from a place where there was a fair amount of heat and good weather, I was certain by now that I hated sunshine and anything but a grey, cloudy sky that poured down buckets of rain.

Perhaps the decision to pack up and move to Forks, Washington was a bit morbid and premature but I was sick of every single day of my life being full of nothing but cheerful people frolicking in golden rays of an afternoon sun. Didn't people in California have bad days? Maybe spending some time on the highway around people with road rage would do me some good, I mused as I sliced a cucumber up. I focused on the cucumber and tried to ignore the light humming from beside me that came from my step sister. The blood red tomato she was chopping up for the cucumber salad we were making was leaking juice everywhere and I tried to ignore that too.

It wasn't working. But at least she was getting messy because of it.

The pale pink shirt she wore already had several stains on it and I took a twisted sort of pleasure out of remembering her cry of pure despair when the tomato had donned it with it's first red blotch ten minutes earlier. As I finished slicing the cucumber and moved to wash my hands in the sink, I mulled over the irony of the situation at hand. By all appearances, I should have been the one who was overly cheerful and wearing bright colors. I should have been the one smiling, the one making the best of things and persuading my sister to look on the bright side. The two of us were opposites in every aspect and it was odd to most people that we were related in any form or fashion.

We weren't related by blood, no; we were related because our parents (her father and my mother) had gotten married a few months ago. We were step sisters and I had no choice but to live with my mother. Long before the divorce was ever finalized between my parents, I had to move out of the house I had lived in all if my life; I couldn't stand the sight of my father for longer than five seconds and that wasn't exactly conducive to living with him, around him in any way, in the long run. I was forced by my own repulsion to live with my mother and suffer the consequences thereof. Though, honestly, there was no way I'd rather still be with the man I had called my father and have to deal with him.

I cut off the water to the sink faucet and grabbed a hand towel, drying off the spare water as I recalled the day we had gone to the airport and my father had shown up to say goodbye alone. I could remember the hate that had coursed through me and recalled with crystal clarity how I had asked him why his tramp hadn't come to the airport to say farewell too. A small sigh escaped as I turned to face my step sister again and there was a quiet moment where I observed her. It was almost odd, how she looked so calm, so settled in this place full of sunshine and happiness.

The first time I had seen her-and the morbid impression of her I had gained-still stuck with me. Not much had changed about her since we met when my mother and I had gone over for dinner at their house over a year ago. I was sixteen and terrified of nearly everything despite the callouses growing on my heart from my father's betrayal years prior. Ashley Youngblood, with her multiple piercings, coal black hair and dark clothes had fast become one of the things I was terrified of. From the moment I had seen her lounging in her living room, feet kicked up on the coffee table with a midnight colored guitar in her lap, I had been afraid of her. I didn't say more than ten words the entire time we were in their house during the first visit.

She was the poster child for the kind of people parents warn you to stay away from; I was determined to do just that. While I wasn't in the position to pass up making new friends, seeing as I had went to the same school all of my life and knew the names of each 220 students in my graduating class and still had yet to claim a single person that I could call as my best friend, I wasn't keen on making friends with her either. I vocalized this to my mother who had rolled her eyes and told me to stop being terrified of everyone that wasn't a character in a book. I didn't talk to her for a long time for that even though I knew she was right; I was scared of the girl simply because she looked odd and that wasn't fair.

Knowing that I had judged her prematurely didn't stop me from begging my mom not to go back and, despite my protests, my mother increased her visits to the man's house; she would go over every Friday to have supper with him and his daughter, with or without me. I was still burning from my father and what he had done to us. I had no room for anything else to seep it's way into my life or my heart. And, moreover, I was terrified of Ashley no matter how many times I went over to eat at her house and saw her playing on her guitar. I stayed afraid of her for a long time, unwilling to approach her and shatter the silent, understood truce we had to never cross the invisible barrier between us.

I had vowed on the day my parents' divorce was finalized to not let anyone else into my life, to become any closer than was necessary. Nothing good ever lasted and love was nothing but a wasted emotion that people tricked themselves into believing for a short while before life would bring you back to reality. Reality, to me, had become a cold and unforgiving place with nothing but heartbreak and a bleak future every single person had to endure. Through the bleakness that had become my life in such a short time, it was the belief that nothing lasted that made it clear to me that sooner or later our parents would experience an inevitable split and we all would part ways.

They never split.

After six months of having to go to the Youngblood household for weekend get togethers, I was forced to concede that they might actually be in it for the long run so I needed to make nice with my future sister. And it seemed, as soon as I accepted that my future would hold the punk girl in it, life offered me the perfect opportunity to get to know her. Still holding the towel, a soft smile curved my lips and I sighed inwardly, remembering going to the Youngblood household and being asked by my mother to go and see what kind of toppings Ashley wanted on her half of the pizza we would share. (Even I wasn't that stupid-I knew it was a ploy to get me to talk to her so we would "bond").

I returned to the counter, picking up a pair of gloves and sliding them on before beginning to peel and chop an onion as I recalled our first real conversation.

-.-.-

Laughter, light and pure, followed me from the living room as I headed quietly up to the second floor of the Youngblood house.

I had been told to go to the second room on the right-but as I hit the landing, I knew I would have been able to find it without directions. I looked down the right side of the hall and was greeted with the sight of a solid white door with large gothic design on it. The large skull and cross bones painted on the door would have been a small tug in the right direction, I decided as I approached her door quietly. I knocked gently on the painted wood, half hoping she wouldn't answer, that she would be too moody to respond. If she looked like one of those weird people who hated life and thought that the government was out to get everyone maybe she would be too paranoid to answer the door.

I had no such luck.

"Door's open," a voice called. Okay, so maybe she wasn't sacrificing an animal or whatever people like her did. Maybe she was taking a break? I reached forward, hand shaking as I took the knob and turned it, opening the door just enough for me to stick my head in. I saw no immediate danger-rather than the blood of baby deer or something equally as horrifying, I saw a soft shade of tan paint covering the walls. The room looked relatively clean and there were no odd smells that I couldn't identify-and the girl in question was on her bed, sitting Indian style with a guitar in her lap and a notebook in front of her. She held a pen in her free hand, not looking up as I observed her room with far too much curiosity than was merited.

"When you're done with the inspection, you can sit on the bed. I don't bite," were the two sentences that startled me out of my reverie. She looked up at me, one side of her mouth quirking up. "Well, I don't bite all the time." My eyes widened slightly and I stammered out an excuse on a reflex: "Y-your dad told me t-to come and see what topping you wanted on your half if the pizza?" She rolled her hazel eyes, the color shining bright through her pale skin and dark makeup, and said, "He knows what I like. He's just trying to force us to talk. Tell him I said the usual, Tinkerbell." I blinked, not processing what she said before the nickname she had used for me clicked.

My eyes narrowed as a memory flashed behind my mind's eye and I stood straight, pushing the door open wider. I knew I wasn't intimidating, being so small (barely five feet and two inches tall) and wearing faded jeans and a plain tee with tennis shoes but I wasn't going to let her think she could call me that. There was one person in the world who had called me Tinkerbell and that person had betrayed me in worst way possible. No one would ever use that name for me again. "Okay, look, glitter rock vampire, you call me that again and I'll show you where you can shove that guitar." She looked up, appearing startled by my sudden anger and most likely confused as to how she insulted me.

"Excuse me...?" She trailed off, confused and innocent looking despite the nose and lip piercing. "Don't call me Tinkerbell, bat-in-the-belfry; I get you might have a weird fetish with sacrificing animals or whatever people like you do but I am not afraid of you. I will make you suffer if you call me that again. Ever." She blinked, obviously not getting the point for a few seconds... and then a smile, real but small, curved her lips. "Okay. Can I call you munchkin?" Well. She took that well. I bit my lower lip, mulling the name around in my head. "Fine. No Wizard of Oz jokes though," I warned, stepping into the room and closing the door quietly behind me.

She pouted as I walked over to her, taking the seat (on the edge of the bed) that she had offered me. "Someone's a party pooper," she muttered, twirling her pen between her fingers. I shrugged, looking at the notebook in front of her that was half filled with scratched out lyrics. "May I-?" I asked, pointing at the notebook she was staring at. She arched an eyebrow and said, "Sure." As I picked it up she cleared her throat and said awkwardly, "You write songs, munchkin?" I shrugged again, ignoring the slight twitch at the back of my brain as a memory tried to surface. I pushed it back, eyes roaming over the page and skimming the lyrics she'd been looking at.

"A little-were you aiming to be so morbid?" The question was rhetorical and I pointedly didn't look up to see her expression. I knew she would be rolling her eyes at me. From her appearance alone one would be able to guess what kind of songs she could write. The problem was that she didn't realize I could write dark stuff too-the only difference was that I could write it better. She didn't know this, however, and that was why she challenged: "You think you can write better, short stuff?" Slowly, my eyes rose from the page to rest on her. "I don't think; I know I can write better than you can." She scoffed, a strange brightness to her hazel eyes as she held out her pen to me.

"Then show me."

-.-.-

As she piled the tomatoes into the bowl with the cucumbers, I finished slicing the onion and came back to the present.

I raked the onions into the large sky blue bowl and peeled the gloves off, throwing them in the trash and moving to the sink to wash my hands. Ashley walked up behind me and held out a stainless steel knife; I took it, running my fingers over the dull side of the steel to rid my fingers of the onion smell. I put the knife in the sink and continued to wash my hands, drying them off on the hand towel as Ashley got the salad dressing out of the fridge. She would put the dressing in and then the salad would sit for a few hours in the fridge and get cold before we had an early supper. It would go good with the chicken I was planning to fix. Ashley and our parents would love it.

Seeing as there was nothing else for me to do, I put my hands on my hips and said, "Well, there's nothing left to do here besides mix it. I think I'm gonna go down to the gym and exercise for a bit." Ashley nodded-or perhaps her head was moving to the beat of the music that was pounding through her earbuds. I wasn't sure. Either way, I was using it as an out. I walked out of the kitchen and towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom I shared with my parents and step sister. We had one near the kitchen but I wasn't as fond of using it as I was the other one. The other one I felt more comfortable walking out of simply because it had more privacy.

When I exited the bathroom, should I choose to exit it just wearing a towel wrapped around me, I didn't want anyone looking at me. Ignoring the bathroom for the time being, I walked into the room I had claimed as my own from the moment we had moved here and moved to the dresser where I kept my work out clothes. I pulled out the pair of shorts and sports bra, along with a spaghetti strapped shirt. It didn't take me long to peel off the jeans and tee I wore and slide them on. I was pulling my hair up in a messy bun as I heard my phone buzz; reflexively, I grabbed it and looked at the caller ID. My nose wrinkled in disgust at the name I saw there and I let it ring as I pulled on a pair of socks and tennis shoes.

By the time I was done, it had stopped ringing and the room was silent. I grabbed my iPod and my phone, sliding them into the pocket of my shorts and heading for the door. I could feel my phone vibrating and hear it ringing as I made my way to the elevator and then through the lobby. The Palm Woods was a wonderful place to live and had an amazing gym that was well stocked with the latest equipment to help people stay in shape, including a treadmill that I regularly ran on. I entered the gym at a relatively fast pace, pausing only for a second to put my phone on silent and put it back in my pocket, tucked out of sight. I went to an empty treadmill and climbed on, starting the machine up.

But I knew, even as I plugged in my earbuds and listened to Nickelback while I started to move with the machine, that no amount of running could help me escape the past that lurked behind me.

That didn't mean I couldn't try, though.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n:**

**Oh, how I wish I owned a boy band. But, alas I do not. So I have to suffice with writing this story. Which I hope you enjoy :)**

**Read and review, please :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot line and the original characters.**

It was funny, almost ironic, how my perception of the idea of pain had changed entirely since the divorce between my parents.

Rather than avoiding it, I embraced it-and there were two methods I used to help me cope: Running and music.

Physical pain was something I could control, unlike the twisting emotional pain that had ravaged me on the inside for so long. I had never went to extremes, no. I had never taken to harming myself-but that possibility had only been eliminated because I was hemophobic. My fear of blood was much greater than the need to feel like I could control something. So I found a different way, a healthier way. One of the ways I felt like I could control all of the anger and resentment towards my father that mangled everything inside of me was to run; running burned energy and exhausted the ability to process emotions, to feel anything if you did it long enough.

So for months I would run, run endlessly, until I felt like I could face my father for the brief few minutes a day I had to see him. I ran at the park, the gym, anywhere that I could go and find some peace. I probably could run around five miles wide open by now without stopping for a water break. Running had been great for me-and if I had stayed in Georgia, I could have joined the track team and won a state championship for them. I had no doubt that I was good at running. It was just something I could do, something that helped with the pain of losing the family I had known for all of my life. Running made me ache, made me hurt, but it also made me numb to the pain. It let me breathe.

Another way, an easier way, to deal with the pain was music.

I had always known I could write. It was something I enjoyed, writing essays and putting words together exactly the way I wanted them, but I hadn't been inspired to write songs or poetry until after my father's betrayal. I had started out writing an angry letter to him, per suggestion of the school counselor my mother had forced me to go to. But the words on the page weren't enough; there was no real way to express my anger at him for what he had done. When the counselor read the letter, she could see both the anger and the ability to write. While I was lost on how to get rid of all of the anger inside of me, she seemed to pull an answer out of thin air.

I was about ready to quit seeing her altogether and tell her I'd be fine on my own when she suggested poetry. Poetry turned out to be the perfect solution to the problem and I eventually devolved into writing songs. Writing songs, putting the poetry to music, had seemed like the next logical step to me. The only issue was that I didn't know how to play anything but a piano and that instrument wasn't exactly matched to the kind of lyrics I was writing. I wanted to learn how to play an electric guitar but I had no one to teach me. Asking my mom to pay for lessons would have tipped her over the edge and made her send me off to the loony bin so I never learned.

I kept to myself and made do with downloading rock music where there was more screaming and anger than music. The music and the running were my only painkillers. They were the only thing keeping me from devolving into a mess. They were still the only things keeping me from devolving into a state where I was the poster kid of emo teenagers everywhere and refused to talk to anyone. Perhaps no one understood why I had to go and run every day of my life but then and again, no one had to. No one had to understand what kept me a sane, productive citizen of society. All they had to do was appreciate the benefits that came from me running on a treadmill for a few hours.

The main benefit of running (while listening to music) was that it helped me clear my head and sort through things. Currently, as I ran on the treadmill-at a speed much faster than the other two people on them, one of which was a guy who kept on glaring at me because I was singing along to the music playing on my iPod, I assumed-I thought about the same thing I had mulled over ever since we had gotten here: I hated this place; I didn't want to be here. No, I didn't hate Ashley for persuading our parents to come here. She was talented and deserved her shot at fame. But the last thing I wanted was to spend my summer before senior year at the Palm Woods, making nice with people who didn't care if I left or stayed.

To please both of us, the agreement had been we would stay for the summer and see what happened. If nothing happened (if there was no record deal) we would go back home and forget about the whole thing and when Ashley graduated she could go back on her own to pursue a music career. I felt like crap for wishing it, but I was banking on Ashley bombing everything so I could go home and be a recluse ninety percent of the time again. This place was too bright, too full of people plastering on a smile for the camera and making nice with people they hated. I didn't like all the fakeness here. It was like a disease; I wasn't willing to be one of the people who caught it.

The music blared into my ear drums as I thought of a pretentious blonde haired boy I had seen in the lobby on our first day here. We had literally walked into the lobby of the Palm Woods for the first time and he was there, all arrogant smiles and deceitful blue eyes filled with empty promises. And here, people were either under the impression that their shit didn't stink from the amount of talent they had or they were just bat shit crazy (like the guy who cannon balled off into the pool from the side of the building yesterday). I frowned, pushing the thought of him out of my head and kept running, listening to the lyrics for a few seconds before my attention was caught by something else entirely.

A boy, who had to be around my age, had stepped into my line of vision and was smiling at me like he wanted some thing. I arched an eyebrow and he kept on standing there. After a moment of having a staring contest, I pulled out an ear bud and stopped singing to ask him, "Can I help you with something?" I didn't stop running, keeping a steady pace and an even breathing pattern. It would be a while before I would start to sweat. Or ache. "You have a nice singing voice," was all he said. Oh-Kay. So he was completely crazy. I wrinkled my nose, saying, "Thank you?" He continued to smile and after about half a minute passed I spoke again. "Was that all you wanted to tell me or...?"

I could afford to be nice for a couple of minutes if he would go away. He seemed to snap out of his daze and his eyes focused a little more. He cleared his throat, as if to prep himself, and said, "Would you be interested in joining a band?" 'No' was the immediate answer-but something niggled at the back of my brain, the image of my step sister being pissed at me cropping up. A corner of my mouth quirked and I didn't break stride as I said, "That depends, hot shot. Can my sister join too?" Eyebrows rose, his expression surprised as he considered my response. "Does she play an instrument? Or sing good?"

I snorted, saying, "Yeah. She plays the electric guitar and sings." I decidedly left out the part where the guitar was like an extension of her-a limb she had to have in order to live. He might not have understood it if I had attempted to explain. I was brought out of my thoughts as his smile returned full force and he began talking again. "Great! We're having a band meeting tonight at eight in apartment 2J. Be there." I gave him a small smile, an affirmative nod, and went to plug my earbud back in-but he opened his mouth again, the action halting the movement of my arm. His smile was gentler now, less enthusiastic, and he stuck his hand out, saying, "I'm James, by the way."

I smirked, lifting the ear bud to an inch away from my ear and said, " I know."

And then I put the ear bud in, closed my eyes, and kept on running.

-.-.-

Going back to the apartment later on that afternoon, I wondered if agreeing to the impromptu offer had been the best idea.

I hadn't been lying when I said I knew who the guy was. I had known who he was ever since I had known Ashley. If there was one thing Ashley knew, it was her music, and if there were two bands she loved the most in the world, those bands were Big Time Rush and One Direction. She loved both of them equally and didn't understand why fans of them fought over who was better when they were clearly both amazing. I had never been much into pop music until Ashley had all but tied me to a chair and forced me to listen to a few singers and I admitted they were good; she then proceeded to download every album she could find with pop music on it onto my iPod.

I hadn't taken her to be the kind of girl who flailed over the prettiest band member but her favorite member of BTR was James Diamond, the self proclaimed pretty boy of the group. I personally held more favor with Logan, simply because he was from the south-but he did have adorable dimples, to his credit. A sigh escaped as I came to the door of our apartment and twisted the knob. I walked in, greeted by the smell of cookies-oatmeal raisin if I knew my mother well enough-and inhaled deeply as I closed the door. I walked over to the kitchen, pecking my mother on the cheek as I grabbed a cookie off of the plate she was piling them on. "Take one to Ashley," she reprimanded in a gentle tone and I nodded, grabbing another one.

I went to walk away but paused, turning around to face my other with a sweet smile. She looked up from the pan of cookies and when she saw me smiling, she sighed and put the spatula down. "Either you've done something or you want something. Which is it?" I stepped closer to her, the smile turning sheepish as I said, "Can't it be a bit of both?" She closed her eyes, exasperated, and I continued to explain. "I went running earlier on the treadmill like I always do and I was singing while I ran. Well, this guy heard me singing and came up to me and asked if I would be interested in joining a band." I paused as her eyes opened, looking surprised. I shrugged; I didn't get it either.

It wasn't like I was a stellar singer. Maybe he wanted me to sing back up vocals? Or maybe my mother's surprise wasn't owed to me having less than stellar singing abilities and was more or less because it was me who had been asked and not Ashley when she was loaded to the gills with talent. I ignored both of the possibilities and continued to talk, hoping to persuade her to let us go. "I told him I would if Ashley can join too and he said that that would be great, that they need a girl who plays the guitar. They're having a band meeting at eight in his apartment tonight and I was wondering if we could go? Please? This would mean so much to Ashley, for her to get into his band."

She eyed me critically for a moment and then sighed, picking up the spatula and pointing it at me. Her eyes were stern but the corner other mouth twitched ever so slightly before she began to speak. "Your curfew for the meeting is no later than ten. And make sure you have your phones on and the volume turned up so you can hear when I call you. You know if I call either of you and you don't answer, there will be consequences, young lady." I couldn't help the grin I was wearing as I hugged her, thanking her, and then ran off towards Ashley's room. I was excited to tell Ashley this, in spite of my hatred of the Palm Woods. I cared for Ashley, wanted her to succeed.

It didn't matter how much of me wished she would have waited until after graduation to decide she wanted to live out here and pursue a music career. I still wanted her to have her dream of being a rock star come true. Ashley was so gonna love me for this, I just knew it as I knocked on her door. "Door's open," her familiar voice called and I pushed the door open wide. "Who is the best step sister in the entire world?" I asked with a too wide smile. She was lounging on her bed, strumming on an acoustic guitar instead of her electric one, and looked at me like I had gone insane. Perhaps she thought I had but I was too thrilled to care what she thought of my mental state.

"Okay. I'll bite. Who is the best step sister in the world?" She asked, nails plucking the strings and forming a melody. I hopped onto her bed, sitting on my calves and bracing my hands on my knees as I leaned forward, grinning. "The one who went to the gym to run and met James freaking Diamond and got an invite to join a band and only agreed to be in it if her awesome step sister who plays the electric guitar could join too and then got invited to come to a band meeting tonight in apartment 2J at eight." She blinked at me, not really processing what I had said, and sat up, putting her guitar to the side. She was quiet for a moment and when she spoke, sounded skeptical.

"You can't be serious...?"

I snorted, rolling my eyes and something seemed to click in her brain. She squealed, tackling me and taking me by surprise-so much so that we both fell off of the bed and hit he floor with a loud thud. I groaned, half in pain and half in shock as she planted kisses all over my face. "You are so amazing; I knew bringing you along was a great idea! I knew it! I brought you along and now I have an audition to be in a band and I get to meet Big Time Rush. I have the best step sister ever!" I didn't point out that she would have met them anyway, since they lived at the Palm Woods (which was one of the reasons she had confessed to me was why she had fought so hard to live here initially).

"Stop slobbering on me, you weirdo! We have to get ready for the band meeting tonight and you're wasting time! We only have two hours!"

I had never seen Ashley move as fast as she did then.

-.-.-

Ashley, as I suspected she would, worked herself into a frenzied state about ten minutes before we were supposed to leave to go to the apartment.

I had showered, eaten supper, and changed into a decent outfit (jeans, tennis shoes, and a plain blue tee) only for Ashley to tell me I wasn't allowed to wear what I had chosen. I decided to go with it, to ease her nerves, and ended up being put into a dress with a pair of heels that would break my ankles. I vetoed that idea immediately and we eventually decided on a compromise: dark jeans, black high heeled boots, and a nice emerald green button up shirt with a black under shirt. Ashley decided to go along the same lines, but in all black. Black jeans, boots, shirt, and all of her jewelry on and make up done to look like the girl I had seen so long ago.

I settled for putting in earrings (all silver studs in all three sets and the one cartilage piercing) and wearing my class ring.

Currently, Ashley was trying to figure out how to make her outfit look more authentic, like she meant business. I personally didn't think she had to worry about anything. She looked as authentic as it came to me. I watched as she looked through her clothes for what had to be the thirtieth time within the hour and sighed, standing up. We had ten minutes and if she stayed in here any longer she would decide to lock herself up and never come out. I put my phone in my pocket, grabbed hers and her guitar case that held her black electric guitar, and walked out of the bedroom. Like a magnet drawn to a piece of metal, she followed, asking where I was going with her guitar.

"I'm leaving for the band meeting! I'll be back by ten!" I called the words out to anyone still in the apartment, so someone would know where I was at. I walked out of the door and headed for the elevator, pressing the down button. Ashley sidled up to me as the metal doors slid open and followed me in, snatching her guitar from me as it closed behind us. She glared at me and I rolled my eyes, saying, " And you would have left that room on your own, without me taking it? Exactly. So quit glaring and be grateful I got you out of there in time. We only have a few minutes before we're late." She rolled her eyes, all but pouting and I wondered how I had ever found her scary.

Really, she was all bark and no bite.

"Oh, bite me, glitter rock vampire," I teased and her lips twitched as the elevator dinged and opened. I made sure she stepped out first and I followed, a hand on her lower back. She tried to walk slower as we approached the apartment and I only pushed harder, getting her to go at a normal pace as much as I could. "Pushy little asswipe, aren't you?" She muttered as we reached the door. I ignored her, pointedly knocking on the door. I didn't feel nervous as we waited for the door to open-I didn't really care about being in a band, to be honest, but Ashley did and her nerves were showing. She was biting her lower lip, her hazel eyes worried as she looked at the door like it held the answers to everything.

Ashley also had a habit of not being able to keep still when she was nervous. Right now, she was fidgeting badly and her fidgeting made the few seconds it took for someone to get to the door and open it pass slower than normal. "Stop fidgeting," I hissed a second before the door opened and I saw a brown haired girl I recognized; I had seen her at the pool with Logan several times on my way out of the gym everyday. "You must be the gym girl-and you must be her sister. Come on in, everyone has been waiting to meet you!" Well, that was nice. I had a nickname. I smiled at the girl and followed her in, Ashley stepping in cautiously behind me and quietly closing the door.

"My name is Phoebe Carroll-and this is my stepsister Ashley Youngblood," was my response to her. She nodded and led me over to what appeared to be one of the ugliest orange couches I had ever seen. "The guys are just getting Katie to come out of her room. She was playing a game and doesn't want to get off of the computer. But in the mean time, you can meet me! I'm Camille Roberts and I'm going to be one of your bandmates." She stuck out her hand to me after we had taken a seat and I shook it gingerly, letting go so she could shake Ashley's hand. She didn't appear fazed by Ashley's choice of attire and I admired her for that. I would have been terrified.

"So you two moved here recently? How old are you?" I nodded, answering so Ashley wouldn't have to. "Seventeen. We both are. And yeah. Ashley wanted a shot at becoming famous so we packed up and moved here." She nodded, pleased by the answer and opened her mouth to ask another question when she was interrupted by a shout-one that sounded pretty angry. "You can't do this to me-I was winning, damn you! WINNING!" I blinked, seeing four boys come out of a hallway and it was taking all four of them to hold the sixteen year old (I assumed she was sixteen) Katie Knight and haul her into the living room. To her credit, she was putting up one hell of a fight.

The boys collectively tossed her on the side of the couch we weren't on and the only one who had blonde hair sat on her before she could stand, effectively trapping her while the over three ran, pulling on what appeared to be helmets and grabbing hockey sticks. In a flash, James and the shortest one-Carlos, maybe?-sat on either side of the small girl (who was biting the hell out of the boy's shoulder on top of her-he looked like he was in a lot of pain judging by his expression) and crossed a pair of hockey sticks in front of her so she couldn't escape. The other vertically challenged one-Logan, I recognized him from the pool-stood behind her with a hockey stick, braced for her to climb over the back of the couch.

When they were in place, the blonde boy wrenched out of her grip and catapulted to the other side of the coffee table. For about five seconds it was completely silent, except for the blonde boy and the small girl panting... And then the blonde boy put a smile on his lips, dimples showing as he looked towards us and introduced himself. "Hi, you must be the new band members James told us about. I'm Kendall Knight, it's a pleasure to meet you." I attempted to smile and shook his hand briefly before letting go. "I'm Phoebe and this is Ashley, my sister. What kind of band are we talking about joining? Do you have a lead singer yet?"

He wrinkled his nose a little and that was when I first began to suspect that we weren't really joining a band.

His smile turned sheepish and his hands went into his pockets as his eyes flitted between me and my sister. "Well, about that...James might not have phrased it properly. Which I apologize for, that he wasn't clear enough in the beginning-but it's not so much a band as it is a girl group. You know, like Big Time Rush is a boy band." I blinked, not wanting to comprehend what he was saying-because it didn't matter if Ashley thought Kendall Knight shit sunshine in his spare time, I had never agreed to join a girl group. I wanted to join a band, not a quartet of synchronized dancers who sang sugar coated pop tunes. It was a waking nightmare to me, to have been offered to join one.

I almost visibly shuddered at the idea of accepting the offer earlier when I felt Ashley's hand on my wrist, just the barest touch of fingertips. I looked to her and she was biting her lip, her lip ring glinting oddly along with her hazel eyes. I knew from the look on her face that she wasn't going to join this group without me-but she desperately wanted to. She adored this group and she would do anything to get close to them-she loved their music and getting a chance to be around her musical inspiration was all too tempting. Yes, she loved music-any kind of music and, yes, she wanted to be a rock star. She loved playing her guitar and she loved rock music the most, even above Big Time Rush.

And yet, as much as she wanted to be a rock star, this would be not only be the perfect chance to be around them but would also be a foot in the door towards a career as a solo artist for her. I didn't have to be in the group for forever-just until it ran it's course.

So, taking a deep breath, I turned to look at Kendall Knight and gave him a tense smile as I said, "We're in. Tell us what you need us to do to make it work."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: I have this written up to chapter five (which is the longest chapter of all of them, it took ages to write) and thanks to the best friend in the entire world, this is being posted. So I'm just gonna go ahead and dedicate this entire story to Ashley, a girl who inspired one of the main characters in this story with HIW badass she is in a daily basis :P Love you, babe :) you mean the world to me.**  
** As always, read and review :)**  
** Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot line and the original characters.**

As it turned out, 'making it work' required a lot more effort than I had initially thought it would.

As I had never imagined myself to be in a girl group, I had never taken dance lessons. I had never seen the need to take dancing lessons. I wasn't the type to go to parties and dance the night away; I also wasn't the type of person who danced for fun. I ran for exercise and I used writing and music to keep me relatively stress free. At the moment, as I bent in half and braced my hands on my knees to catch my breath, I wondered why I had let one look from my step sister trick me into doing this. This wasn't worth the aggravation or the ache, honestly. More to the point, I ran ten miles a day. How the hell was one hour of dancing kicking my ass? It didn't make sense.

A hand rested on my lower back and I sighed, standing straight and giving my sister an exasperated look. We had been in her room, practicing for the last hour (essentially, since the meeting had ended at eight thirty, thanks to Katie almost breaking a hockey stick) on our dance moves. Ashley and I apparently needed to practice (or in my case, learn for the first time) some basic dancing before we went to the studio tomorrow and met with the boys' producer and founder of Rocque Records, Gustavo Rocque. To say I was enthusiastic about the situation would have been a vast understatement. To say I wanted to strangle my sister would have been all too close to the truth.

"You're doing great!" She enthused and I rolled my eyes, knowing she was lying. She was a shit liar, always had been. "I'm going to go and get a shower. We have a meeting to go to in the morning and I would like to not smell like road kill." She rolled her eyes at the exaggeration but voiced no complaint as I picked my boots up and trudged out, going to my room. I firmly shut the door behind me before putting my boots by the door, planning to wear them again tomorrow for the meeting unless Ashley thought of another outfit for me to wear. I moved to my dresser, sliding off my button up shirt as I did and pulled out a pair of pajama pants and an old tee.

Once everything was gathered (clothes, undergarments, toiletries, etc.), I went for the bathroom I was closest to. It didn't take me long to shower. I was never one to linger when it came to showering; it made no sense to me to waste hot water. Within fifteen minutes I was showered and dressed, heading back to my room as I toweled off my hair. I paused at the door, however, hearing the tv in in the living room. Usually only my step father would watch tv after nine but what I heard wasn't some sort of sports game. It sounded like a documentary on lions. Puzzled, I padded to the living room to see my mother sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, completely alone.

A small part of me was tempted just to head back to my room and leave her be, let her have her moment of peace... But a larger part of me knew that she would have also been offended if I didn't say goodnight to her before retiring to the aforementioned room. So, with legs that were exhausted and aching for the first time in a long time, I walked over to my mother and bent over the back of the couch to kiss her on the cheek. She didn't jump, didn't appear startled-she rarely ever was, anymore. Instead, she looked up at me with blue grey eyes identical to mine and voiced the question I knew she would have asked before she went to sleep regardless of whether I bothered to stop and say goodnight before going to bed.

"So how did it go? Was it everything you hoped for? Is Ashley excited?" I rolled my eyes. Ashley was thrilled behind words about being in a girl band. Ironic, for someone with her image. "Maybe. And yes. We have our first meeting tomorrow and she's thrilled." My mother beamed up at me and I sighed, resting my chin on the top of her head as she turned to face the tv. "Well, I'm gonna go to bed. I have to get up early and try to reign in Ashley. I need all the rest I can get. Night momma. Love you." I pressed a kiss to the top of her hair and she reciprocated the endearment half heartedly, her gaze focused on the documentary she had been watching for who knows how long.

Well, at least she wasn't worried about tomorrow.

-.-.-

I generally liked to think that because of what I had been dealt in life that I had become a slightly more patient person when it came to dealing with others. More forgiving, in essence.

The patience I had gained, however, seemed to be evaporating like the darkness outside of my window when my step sister awoke me almost eight hours later by jumping on my bed. I was tempted to kick her in the calf and make her fall off of the bed-but I also knew it wouldn't dampen her spirits. She would probably just laugh or something. So, with a sigh heavier than a hundred anvils on my shoulders, I sat up and gave her my best bitch glare. I observed her for a long moment as she jumped up and down with her eyes closed, singing at the top of her lungs, before I spoke and started her into falling straight on her ass on the bed, hazel eyes wide and far too innocent to be believed.

"I will rip your vocals chords out, chop them up, and make an omelet with them if you do not stop singing, Ashley!" I snapped and she gaped, looking a little like a fish. After a moment, she asked in a timid voice, "But wouldn't that defeat the purpose of going to the band meeting today and going to Rocque records?" I glared at her for another moment before saying in a carefully controlled voice, "You should count your blessings more often." I then slid out from under the covers and headed for my dresser, pulling out clothes to put on. I pulled on the same clothes I had been jogging in the day prior and grabbed my phone and iPod, intending to go running before we had to leave.

"You're going running?"

Ashley's question wasn't what stopped me; it was the pure disappointment in her tone. I turned to look at her, puzzled. "Yes. I go running everyday," I explained slowly, hoping she would get over whatever weird shifting mood she was in. "Can I go with you?" Her tone perked up as she asked the question and I arched an eyebrow in disbelief. She wanted to go running? With me? Ashley wasn't exactly known for her athletic ability and even if she did decide to exercise, it was usually ten minutes on the treadmill and she was done, completely exhausted. "You want to run. With me," I clarified and she nodded, leaping up off of the bed with a too happy expression.

"Sure! Just let me go and get dressed and we can meet at the door." She ran out of the room and I looked after her, wondering how many cups of coffee she'd had. After a moment, I shook off the memory of what had just happened and moved to pull my tennis shoes on, walking straight to the kitchen. I grabbed a protein bar, opening and eating it as I wrote my mom a note for when she got up-I probably wouldn't be back before eight and she would be worried if she got up and neither of us were in bed. I had finished the protein bar and stuck the note to the fridge by the time I heard Ashley coming down the hallway with far too much perk in her step for it to be non-caffeinated.

I eyed her cautiously as I opened the door and then headed out, jogging for the stairs out of habit. "We're not taking the elevator?" Her question was innocent and I snorted. "No. You can. I do a trifecta on the stairs to warm up before I go to the gym. I'll meet you there, 'Kay?" I headed for the stairs at a faster pace, hoping she wouldn't follow me there too, and almost missed her disappointed sigh as I closed the door to the stair well behind me. I stood there for a moment, puzzling over what had gotten into her before I shook it off and started stretching my leg muscles. Once I was warmed up, I plugged in the ear buds from my iPod, turned on a random song, and started running.

Maybe, just maybe, things-mainly Ashley's behavior-would be back to normal by the time I got to the gym.

-.-.-

Things weren't back to normal when I got to the gym ten minutes later.

Ashley was on a treadmill, head phones in and drenched in sweat; she looked like she was going to pass out. I rolled my eyes, jogging over to her and standing in front of her with my arms crossed over my chest. She stopped the treadmill, leaning against it for a second while she panted and tried to catch her breath, and I sighed. "Okay, it's clear you have no idea of what you're doing. You probably didn't stretch before you got on this, you have no way to replenish your fluids, and why are you running at my speed? Are you trying to give yourself a heart attack? Killing yourself by doing too much exercise is not gonna persuade the producer-"

I paused, something about the way I'd said the words striking me with an epiphany.

Teeth raking over my lower lip, I stepped closer to Ashley and she narrowed her eyes at me. I didn't back down; I had been around her for too long to cower at a pair of hazel eyes that held no more animosity than a stuffed teddy bear could produce. So, with an edge of steel to my tone, I called her out on her motives: "You did this because you were being selfish. You thought spending time with me would make you even on the playing field because you think that I might decide to back out once we go to the record company. You didn't wanna exercise with me or spend time with me-you wanted to manipulate me into signing a contract that would force me into being in the band so I couldn't back out... And I wouldn't have any other choice but to stick with it."

I frowned at her-but should I have expected something different? Ashley knew I detested pop music-and no matter how much she played it there would always be a part of me that despised it. And as soon as some producer tried to make me wear something way too girly I probably would have cut the strings and said no way to a record deal, so her fears had a solid foundation... But the idea of Ashley trying to manipulate me into agreeing with her reminded me too much of someone else I knew. I could feel the walls shooting up and imagined it looked like shutters closing in a window, how my eyes hardened and shut her out from how I was feeling other than being pissed.

She winced, not disagreeing with me one bit as silence followed my words. The silence almost hurt as bad as her admitting I was right, I thought as I looked at her guilty expression. "Well, you do what you want. I'm going running and I'll be back at the apartment by eight." I plugged my head phones in, moving to an open tread mill and climbed on, starting it up as Aerosmith blasted in my ears; the music bled into my veins, soothing the anger building up in my chest. I knew I would have to run until about eight thirty to run all of the anger out of me before I could go and get ready to go to the stupid meeting and listen to an old guy for an hour before getting an ass load of paper work.

Because no matter how pissed I got at Ashley, I would never be like my father and stab her in the back while she wasn't looking.

-.-.-

By eight thirty, I felt like I could possibly go to the apartment and not bite Ashley in her jugular.

But nothing was really certain until it happened.

I exited the gym at 8:32 and went to walk by the pool like I did every morning to get back to the lobby and thought the short walk would be uninterrupted. I was wrong. As I passed the end of the pool closest to the lobby, I felt a tap on my shoulder and paused mid stride to look back and see a pair of spring green eyes looking down at me. I blinked, taking an earbud out of my ear and being greeted by the sounds of the pool on an early, hot California morning. "Yes?" I prompted once it became clear he wasn't going to be the one who would jump start the conversation we were bound to have. He seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been in as I spoke and he gave me a half smile, dimples barely showing.

"Hi," he started nervously, and I turned to face him more fully, amused that the guy who had wrangled a five foot six monster out of her room last night was nervous at talking to someone marginally less terrifying and a lot shorter. "Hi," I replied, humoring him and I saw his cheeks flush a faint pink. He laughed a little, one hand moving to scratch at the back of his neck as he spoke. "I just wanted to talk to you about you being in the band-well, the girl group. Ashley came over to the apartment about ten minutes ago and told all of us that you had changed your mind and said you weren't interested in doing it. What happened to change your mind?"

Oh my gosh. I was gonna kill Ashley with my bare hands.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "I never changed my mind. Ashley assumed I did because we had a fight this morning. I'm guessing she took things into her own hands and took the liberty of informing you that you would have a trio and not a quartet. Which is not true," I added, mentally ignoring the grin making it's way onto his lips. Now was not the time to think about how adorable he looked when he really smiled, not out of nervousness or out of politeness like last night. "So, you're no backing out of the group? You're still going to the meeting at Rocque Records today?" I nodded, shifting from one a foot to the other as I felt my phone start to vibrate in my pocket.

I pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID before promptly pressing the ignore call button and shoving it back in my shorts. I didn't feel like dealing with the person calling, and I had better things to do. Like having a random conversation with a guy I barely knew about being in a girl band I didn't want to be in. Well, maybe not so random as much as it was unexpected, I amended as he arched an eyebrow. "Ex boyfriend?" He prompted, green eyes glancing down at my pocket. I rolled my eyes, clarifying, "I don't have an ex to be annoying-hard to have one if you've never even been on a date, right? And, honestly, I'd take an ex over who's really calling me."

I ignored the surprised expression he wore, plowing on to get through a decent goodbye so I could go and strangle my sister for jumping to conclusions and being dramatic like she was ninety nine percent of the damn time (I blamed it on all of the eye liner and the fumes from the black nail polish she wore, since she had never taken drama classes in school). "Listen, I gotta get back to the apartment and beat some sense into my sister-but I'll see you later, okay? I'll be on time and so will she." He nodded, waving half heartedly with one hand as I walked off into the lobby and headed for the elevators, irritation at Ashley like ants under my skin, crawling and making me jittery.

I sincerely hoped my mother was already up.

We would need a referee for this fight.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: I just thought that I should warn the readers that this chapter contains a brief scene where there is a fight; it's not much and there's no blood or anything, but there is profanity and a wall gets damaged, so I felt obligated to warn you. That is all :)**

**Read and review, please :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot line and the original characters.**

By the time I made it to the apartment, I had worked up the green eyed boy's words into ammunition for a battle.

I was livid as I flung open the apartment door and stormed in, leaving it wide open as I took in the scene before me. My mother and my step father were sitting on the couch and Ashley was in the kitchen, in the middle of buttering a piece of toast. For one second, I contemplated taking the butter knife out of her hands and jabbing her in the arm with it. But no. I had a bone to pick with her first. Stabbing would come later. Maybe in five minutes. I marched over, ignoring how my mother looked up and how her brow furrowed as she saw the anger sparking in my eyes, and knocked the toast out of Ashley's hand. She let out an indignant cry, looking up to probably chastise me, but I beat her to it.

I pointed a finger at her, poking her in the chest as I said, "You are the most selfish bitch I have ever met in my entire fucking life. How dare you go and tell them I was backing out after you tried to manipulate me by pretending you wanted to spend time with me this morning! Are you out of your goddamn mind, you guitar playing weirdo? You seriously have your priorities fucked up because, in case you don't remember, I was your ticket into that fucking band. And yet, you ignored that minor detail and went and told them I didn't want to be in it? What the fuck-" Her jaw had dropped but mid rant, she came out of her shock and began firing back, just like I had expected her to do.

"You don't even like them and you said you didn't want to be in the group in the first place! And it's a girl group, dumb ass! Stop calling it a band. It. Is. A. Girl. Group. Just like Big Time Rush, which you still don't even like enough to get to know their names properly because you call them all those weird nicknames. Kendall's name is not 'tall, blonde and eyebrows', okay?" I let out a short laugh, saying, "This isn't about whether I like bubble gum pop music, you idiot. This is about you getting the chance to be famous. Isn't that what you came out here to this hell hole for? To become famous and see your name in shining lights when you go on a world tour?"

Scowling, she marched out of the kitchen and I followed her as she went to her room and started pulling out clothes for her to put on for the meeting in a few hours. "Well, believe it or not, I was helping you get there and maybe, just maybe, I had kinda started to change my mind about being in the girl group. Maybe I thought it would be a fun way to spend my time until you went off into your inevitable solo career and become a rock star, but hell. Let's just go and tell all the others that I don't wanna be in the band because clearly I'm the one who's the self righteous bitch in this situation who doesn't appreciate the sacrifices other people make for her to live in a dream world!"

Throwing a pair of black skinny jeans onto her bed, she rounded on me, raising her voice as she said, "What sacrifice have you made to be here? I had to beg for ages to get them to agree to come here and all you did was pack up and move to California and you get to not do anything but get up and run everyday! Which, by the way, is insane. No one gets up and runs everyday of their goddamn life, okay? I don't get why you do it every day, for hours. It's crazy-and I really don't see how you can claim you're some kind of martyr in this situation when you're clearly living the dream-" I marched up to her, having the gall to shove her even though I was far too short to have that amount of courage.

"I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE, YOU SELF-ABSORBED BITCH. I NEVER WANTED TO MOVE HERE. I WANTED TO STAY IN GEORGIA AND THEN GO TO COLLEGE LIKE A NORMAL PERSON BUT NO. I HAD TO COME OUT HERE BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR GUILT TRIP-BECAUSE MY MOM IS TERRIFIED OF YOUR DAD HATING HER IF SHE SAYS NO TO YOU! UNLIKE YOU, SHE CARES ABOUT THE PEOPLE AROUND HER AND WANTS TO MAKE THEM HAPPY! ALL YOU DO IS TRY TO SEE HOW EVERY SITUATION CAN BENEFIT YOU AND IF IT DOESN'T THEN YOU TWIST IT UNTIL IT DOES BENEFIT YOU AND THEN YOU ACT LIKE A MARTYR CLAIMING OH POOR , PITIFUL ME, LOOK AT HOW HORRIBLE MY LIFE IS I'M GLAD SOMETHING FINALLY WENT MY WAY! WELL YOU CAN TAKE YOUR GUILT TRIP AND SHOVE IT RIGHT UP YOUR-"

She stepped forward, firing back again and cutting me off.

"SO YOU HAVE TO SPEND ONE SUMMER IN A FIVE STAR APARTMENT COMPLEX! LET ME WIPE YOUR TEARS OF PAIN YOU SPOILED LITTLE BRAT! AND I NEVER ASKED YOU TO DO A DAMN THING FOR ME!" She was screaming at me-and I shoved her again, too pissed to process that that was a bad move. Tired of the physical assault, she shoved back. The issue with that was Ashley was about five inches taller and heavier than I was. She shoved me and the force of it sent me flying through the door to her room, hitting the hallway just beyond. I hit the wall with a loud thud, the sheet rock caving in slightly as I slumped over upon impact.

Despite the fact that I could have been seriously injured, I paid no mind to me hitting the wall; I had too much adrenaline coursing through me to feel pain. That was why I catapulted up from my slumped position in the floor and tackled Ashley to the ground with a blood-curdling scream of anger. Yes, I was tiny, but I was the one exercising everyday so I was stronger by default. Ashley had no chance when I was focused. I had been too pissed to protect myself from the shove she had given me but now she would have to suffer the consequences. She had no right to belittle what I had been through the last few years when she didn't understand it at all.

I was so angry that I had intended to literally try to strangle her, but I had no more gotten my fingers around her throat than a a pair of arms were prying me off of her. "No-no hurting your band mates, Tinkerbell, come on-no, calm down-calm down, pixie-damn, you're as bad as Katie-" For a few long seconds, I didn't understand who was holding me back but then a flash of green eyes came to my mind's eye and I went still. I took a second to process what was happening, the red haze in my vision clearing, and I cleared my throat so I could talk. "What are you doing here in my apartment? I never told you where I lived, Blondie, and you have no reason to be here."

I couldn't remember his name to save my life and I wondered if it was the name Ashley had said earlier before his response caught my attention. "Actually, your cell phone fell out of your pocket in the lobby when you were going to the elevator and rather than letting Bitters or someone else-like the Jennifers-get it and you never being able to find it again, I picked it up asked Bitters where your apartment was. Your welcome," he tacked on the end. I paid no mind to the smart ass comment; my eyes narrowed as I watched Ashley get up-with the help of both of our parents-slowly off of the floor and rub the back of her head where she had hit it on the bed post mid tackle.

She glared at me and I growled, the sound low in my throat. Her eyes widened slightly-but she pulled a poker face, her expression smoothing out. "Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on? And who are you?" My mother's words were sharp and I imagined the boy smiling at her as he answered her, dimples on full display. I ignored the way my breathing faltered at the image of the grin and his bright green eyes paired together, focusing on his answer instead. "I'm sorry-I'm Kendall Knight. I met your daughters yesterday when we recruited them to be in a girl group the record label wanted to form. I assume you were told about it before they came to the meeting last night."

His grip tightened ever so slightly around my mid section and he continued as if he wasn't splintering a couple of my ribs. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm afraid this one will react violently, so. My apologies, ma'am." She inclined her head towards him as she smiled, the area around her eyes still tight. "Now. You explain to me what is going on," my mother snapped at me. I rolled my own eyes, sighing as her eyes narrowed an increment further. I was completely limp in his grip-but he still didn't let go for fear of me hurting Ashley. It was a good decision, I mused as I explained in a robotic, monotone voice with my gaze trained on the wall behind the other three in the room.

I figured it best not to look at Ashley while I explained.

Murder by strangulation was still tempting.

"Your step daughter tried to manipulate me into signing a contract so I couldn't back out of the girl group by offering to spend time with me this morning. By the time we were actually in the gym and running, I had figured it out and got mad. Because I got mad, she misinterpreted what I said. She went and told everyone in the group I was backing out when I never actually verbally said I was. When I found out, I came up here to confront her-and you see the result. We screamed, it got physical, and super-boy showed up and saved her life." My mother crossed her arms over her chest and waited, looking for any clues in my eyes or facial expression that I was lying.

I had never been able to lie to her-and I wasn't lying now. But thirty seconds into it, I was actually starting to feel where I had hit the wall and Blondie's grip wasn't helping. I sighed, impatient, and said, "Can he let me go now? He's cracking one of my ribs and the hulk over there tried to put me through the wall so believe it or not, my back hurts like hell right now; I'd like some relief from the pain. You know, before I go to the meeting from hell and have to sit and act like I want to be in a girl band." The shock that flitted over Ashley's face was unmistakeable; I frowned at her, arching an eyebrow as the boy's grip loosened just a bit, allowing me to breathe easier (I almost cheered).

She said nothing and I could still feel irritation under my skin, it pushing me to evoke a reaction out of her. My tone was condescending as I talked to her again. "What? You thought I was taking an easy out? I have more people counting on me than you. I can't back out now and leave them hanging. They need a fourth member." I scoffed, continuing, "You may have ulterior motives but not everyone is like you. And I'd like to keep the trust of the other two. They seem genuine." Something that looked like regret flitted through her eyes but ignored it, twisting my way out of the blonde's grip. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting at ten that I have to get ready for."

I didn't look back, walking to my room and slamming the door shut behind me. Once the door was fully closed, I leaned against it, closing my eyes and breathing in and out steadily while the events played behind my mind's eye. I knew that I could have handled that situation Bette form the get go-but the idea of Ashley thinking I was someone who was flaky and would back of hating me more than anything. She knew me better than that, knew I wouldn't have done it no matter how much pink was thrown at me. I would have do sit for her-so why didn't she trust me to be the person she knew? Maybe she trusted me, but not enough to gamble her future fame on.

I couldn't decide which version hurt worse.

Rolling my shoulders to ease the tension in them, I sighed and pushed off of the door and headed to my dresser, putting all of the thoughts about Ashley and her emotional betrayal aside as I began looking through my dresser for an outfit to wear. It tiny took me less than five seconds to realize that I had no idea what to pull out to wear to this meeting at Rocque Records. Sure, I knew how I liked to dress but I knew next to nothing about boy or girl bands and how they dressed. My knowledge was limited at best; Ashley was the one who knew the most about them. The only thing I knew about them was that they all seemed to dress alike and be able to sing like preteen girls.

I was sure that we should have a look that was unified but at the moment I was too pissed to care. I was still too angry over what had happened between me and Ashley to care what we looked like as a group. I could have cared less if they were dressed for the red carpet and I came in looking like a homeless person next to them. They didn't need me to look pretty. They just needed me to sing pretty, which I knew I could do. Singing wasn't one of my greater talents-I preferred writing, to be honest-but I knew I was at least passable enough to be in the group so they couldn't just toss me out. I knew it didn't matter what I wore-but still, it kind of did.

I pulled out a pair of white capris, ones I hadn't worn in a long time and ones I knew would directly contrast with Ashley's look; I tossed the capris onto my bed, already mentally calculating which shoes I could wear with it. I didn't have many but there were a few I had. I had one white pair of flats, I knew. I moved to the dresser again, looking for a shirt that I knew would bring out the color in my eyes-it always made them more blue, less silver. I pulled out a deep blue v-neck shirt, thinking that I could wear a white spaghetti strap under it and my white flats to complete the outfit. Ashley would have had jewelry to go with it. But I could live without jewelry. I didn't need it.

It was as I tossed the shirt onto the bed too that I heard the soft knock on my door. I paused, eyeing it suspiciously before calling out, "Who is it?" There was a pause and then- "It's Blondie. I got your cell phone, remember?" I rolled my eyes, moving for the door. I opened it just enough to stick my head out-and there he stood, holding out the phone. I reached out, taking it from him, and before I could close the door, he spoke. "You know, what you did was honorable-I could tell you didn't want to be in the band when you agreed to be in it last night." I hesitated, wondering if I should bother with this conversation before sighing and opening the door a little wider.

"Yeah. I know," I said softly, wincing as I leaned against the door frame. His lips quirked and he said, "So modest. And calm-the master of tranquility." I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest as I fought the redness in my cheeks. "Yeah. The running is what makes it possible," I muttered and he was quiet, green eyes observing me with an odd amount of intensity. "Well," he said after a moment, "I think you two will work things out. Be at the apartment at a quarter till, okay?" I nodded, giving him a barely there smile before he walked off, giving a small wave as he went. I closed the door again, returning to gathering my things and pushed the encounter as far from my mind as possible.

Three minutes later, as I was about to head out of the room and go into the bathroom to shower and hopefully take some soreness out of me with the heat from the hot water, there was another knock on my door. I didn't have to ask who it was because she answered before I could. "Open up, paiste. We need to talk," my mother said, a dangerousness behind the softness of her voice and in the Gaelic term of affection she used. I sighed, calling out begrudgingly, "It's open." I knew what was coming: a reprimanding for my behavior and a plea to go see counseling. My mother would never punish me for acting out-I had to punish myself if I wanted to be on restriction.

After the divorce, she was unwilling to punish me at all, fearing it would push me away from her. What she had underestimated, however, was the pure disgust I held for my father. I had no one left besides my mother and I would have gladly taken punishment from her if it meant I didn't have to be near him. Or perhaps she did realize that and that was why she hadn't punished me, afraid nothing would ever really teach me a lesson since I knew that I had to take whatever she dished out. So rather than punishment, she tried reasoning. Her reasoning always made me feel guilty-just guilty enough to cave and promise to be better but never guilty enough to agree to counseling.

I didn't need therapy. I had therapy everyday when I went running.

My mother walked in, her expression tired as she looked at me. "Paiste, what am I going to do about your temper?" She asked gently, sitting on the edge of my bed. She had the grace of an orchid and a spine made of steel, so I knew she was asking a rhetorical question. She continued talking, like I knew she would before she had even stepped in the door. "Sweetie, you know I love you no matter what you do but this temper-how you react to things is getting out of control. You need to find better ways to deal with your anger. I know running helps and that you stay healthy as a direct result, which is great. But baby, it's not healthy for you to snap like that."

I knew that. I knew that being angry like that wasn't healthy but she didn't understand. She didn't get it and neither would some doctor in an office who had read so many medical books that he or she had forgotten how to be human, how to sympathize and empathize with a patient. I didn't need to be looked down on, to be pitied; I would rather run and cope on my own, in my own ways than to dish out money to some quack who would never help me in the end. "Maybe you should try seeing someone professionally equipped to help you deal with this. There are support groups, therapists who will listen. They can help you find solutions, ways to deal with everything that's happened-"

"So there's a therapist who knows how to cope with finding your father fucking his intern on his office desk?"

Silence.

I grabbed my things, giving my mother a cold glare. "I didn't think so. And until you find a shrink who has a magical solution to that, I don't need a lecture on how I need therapy. I have running, writing, and music. That's all I need and I'm fine. I don't need to pay three hundred bucks a visit to a shrink so he can tell me I'm pretty and I'm important and to love myself so I can properly love those around me. I'm not going to therapy; I don't need it so just fucking drop it, okay?" I pushed past her and through the door, heading to the bathroom. I made sure to lock the door behind me before turning on the water. I stripped and as soon as the water was hot enough, I stepped under the spray.

I hissed as it made contact with my muscles and wondered how bad this was gonna hurt tomorrow. I probably wouldn't be able to get out of bed-I had hit the wall pretty hard. But for today I had to grit my teeth and bear it with a plastered on smile. I could take pain meds and use a heating pad when I got home to relieve the ache and if anything got worse, I reasoned, I would just go to a hospital and tell them I fell down a flight of stairs or went through a meat grinder or something. With that thought in mind, I reached for the soap, wincing at the stretch and burn it produced and groaned; for some reason, I just knew that the pain in my back was only gonna get worse as the day went on.

I was so not looking forward to this meeting.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/n:**

**This chapter is the longest one yet, I think. As i have nothing else to away on the matter, I hope you enjoy it. As always, read and review :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing (especially not "Sparks Fly" by Taylor swift) but the plot line and the characters.**

Freshly showered and having taken the appropriate amount of meds, I was in my room pulling clothes on when a knock came on my door. I had already pulled my undergarments and capris on and was putting on deodorant as I called out, "Who is it?" No answer came for a full fifteen seconds and then a voice I didn't want to hear spoke. "It's me. I wanted to see your outfit so we could coordinate." Biting my lower lip, I briefly debated on letting her in as I pulled on the white spaghetti strap and picked up the blue shirt. See, I'd had time to think in the shower and I knew that I had been in the wrong. Yes, what Ashley had done wasn't angelic by any means, but I had overreacted in the worst possible way. I had been the one to start the fight from the get go and things could have gone a lot smoother if I would have held my tongue.

I could have kept calm and simply asked Ashley about it rather than confronting her so aggressively. And knowing that her coming to ask me to see my outfit was probably a white flag in the middle of a charred and bloody battle field, I decided to raise my own. I pulled my shirt over my head and then called out, "Okay, I'm decent. Come in." The door knob turned and she poked her head in, hazel eyes cautious. I almost rolled my eyes but refrained, thinking it would be best not to tip the fragile truce in one direction or the other just yet. She probably wouldn't be very appreciative towards sarcasm at the moment, even if it was well meant (not that mine would be, given the circumstances).

"So, you're wearing white? Really?" I arched an eyebrow at her and she sighed, opening the door all the way and walking into the room. "Look, what I did was wrong. I know that. I know that and I'm sorry. I just..." "Didn't trust me even though you knew I would never back out of the deal because I knew it meant the world to you to get into a band with a chance at being famous?" I spat the words out before she could fully finish explaining herself and she looked at me, only half exasperated. "Well, yes, but that's only half of the reason. I just... I knew that you would do it no matter what and I guess I thought that if I forced you to sing music that you hate that you would end up hating me."

She bit her lower lip, moving to sit on the edge of my bed as she finished explaining. "I don't want you to hate me, okay? And I thought the best solution would be to go and tell them that you didn't want to be in the band so that it had no chance of happening." My anger softened at her words and there was a brief moment of silence before I moved to sit beside her. "I wouldn't have hated you. Yeah, I get mad and we fight, but I've never hated you. In fact, I'm 99% positive it's impossible to hate you. And besides, it's like I said: I was kinda getting used to the idea of being in the band with you girls. I think it might be a good way to kill a few years-and get rich if it works out."

I reached over, grabbing her hand and squeezing it gently. "And I should apologize too. I know my temper isn't the best and I shouldn't have reacted like that. I should have come up here and reacted rationally. I should have acted like I have a brain that works and I didn't. I really am sorry." She rolled her eyes, pulling her hand out of mine and throwing her arm over my shoulders. "It's okay. I kind of deserved being tackled. How does your back feel?" I shrugged, ignoring the pain I felt and lied easily. "I took Tylenol and it feels a little better. It's not that bad." The look she gave told me that she knew I was lying-but for the sake of not causing an argument, she was keeping quiet this one time.

I cleared my throat and she retracted her arm, eyes going over my outfit with a sigh. "Fine. You can wear this social atrocity one time-but only because of the image we need to present. If we're gonna be a girl group, we need a clean cut image anyway. I'll text Katie and Camille and tell them what to wear. Just try not to get a stain on anything, okay?" That was her last warning before walking out of the room. I sighed, running a hand over my still make up free face and wondered how long it would be before she changed that on me too.

I gave her ten minutes after she picked an outfit for herself before she attacked me with her supplies. It would take half an hour for her to shower and get herself ready, if she hadn't already showered. Maybe she would want to go and eat something too? With that in mind, I guessed I had enough time to relax on my bed and write out a few song lyrics. I hadn't written in a while and now would be a good time. Writing was a type of therapy for me, in a different way. Exercise was my main outlet, using the most energy, but writing helped too. I could channel all of the angst and anger into a few good lyrics for Ashley later on when she eventually became a rock star and needed a song.

It would probably be for her eighth album or whatever, but it would be good to have it for whenever she decided she needed my writing expertise. Standing to move to my desk, I grabbed my black journal (Yes, I saw the irony in it-that was why I bought it and put a label on the front that said "my little black book of revenge" just to be a smart ass-Ashley had laughed herself to tears when she had seen it) and moved to sit on my bed in the middle, leaning against the headboard and grabbing a pen from my bedside table. I turned to a fresh page just past the last page of lyrics and paused, tapping my pen against the page as I mulled over the possibilities.

My mind returned to when I had leaped at Ashley, catapulting off of the floor with the intent to maim. The split second where I had felt that blind anger was still poignant, like a wound that wouldn't heal. Thinking that would be a good lyric, I went to write down a bullet for it but froze as a different part of that memory flashed in my mind's eye. Hands gripping my upper arms and yanking me back; arms wrapping around me like a steel vice while a voice pleaded with me not to maim my sister. The shiver that rolled through me at the memory, despite being able to remember the pain of him crushing my ribs, was one that I couldn't stop simply because I hadn't anticipated it.

I wasn't a weakling-I could lift weights and ran regularly-so he must have been in good shape too. I hadn't observed it in the heat of the moment-but he had to have some sort of muscle tone to hold me back like that; he had to be strong to hold me back when I was fighting him like a wild animal to get to Ashley, my sole intent to strangle her. But even if he was strong enough to hold me back, he was crazy for trying to get in the middle of a fight like that; the boy had guts. He was just a tad reckless-and I pointedly ignored how the thought of how reckless he was made me want to smile because, currently, my body refused to cooperate with my brain. The memory, so vivid, had frozen me.

My body wouldn't do any normal movements-and it especially wouldn't do something productive like write lyrics, not as long as I was frozen in one spot. So I sat there, completely still as I processed all of the information bouncing around in my cranium, before I was able to move again-and this time it was to actually write on the page. I wrote it as quickly as I could because words? Words were an odd thing, something that when inspiration struck, you had to write before you lost them in the murkiness that was the human memory. The lyrics came without prompting, flying across the page in a barely legible, "flowing" as my mother described my handwriting, manuscript that read:

The way you move is like a full on rain storm,

And I'm a house of cards,

You're the kind of reckless that should send me running,

But I kinda know that I won't get far.

And you stood there in front of me,

Just close enough to touch,

Close enough to hope you couldn't see

What I was thinking of...

But what had I been thinking of? Certainly not the way this song was going. I sighed, frustrated, and intended to cross the lyrics out-but paused again. Lyrics were lyrics and maybe I could twist this into an upbeat but still slightly dark song. It would be a good apology song after the fight. Ashley would like that kind of song-perhaps enough to add to her collection of songs she was keeping in her own notebook for her first album when she got her own career. That would be nice, I mused as I returned to thinking about lyrics that could change the meaning of the song so far. I knew I could do this.; it would be easy. I had written nothing but dark songs since I had started writing.

The moments ticked by, and as no words came to me, I became frustrated with myself. I frowned down at the words on the page, wondering when my writing had turned to resembling lyrics that would fit a cheesy rom-com. Honestly, I hated romantic movies. Well, I hadn't always hated them. I had really really liked them once upon a time. I had reveled in how the couple met and it would always be instant love; there would always be drama and then a dramatic kiss in the rain at the end of the movie that would solve everything. All of the pain and anguish the girl had been through was instantly absolved by meeting some guy in middle of the street during a hurricane and kissing him.

Like one kiss could mend everything. Or, well, that was how it appeared when they smiled at each other.

And, with that thought, inspiration hit me again.

Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain,

Kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain,

Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile.

Ugh. Wasn't this suppose to be a song about anger and angst? About the betrayal of a loved one? I was good at writing those songs-had written them so much I could write them in my sleep. But this... No. I could do this. I could focus and make this what it needed to be. Shaking the thought of all the movies I had watched as a 12 year old out of my frontal lobes, I looked at the last verse I had written. It was a good refrain for the chorus, but it was far too short. It needed another part, needed more substance than a brief description of a moment in a romantic comedy aimed at preteen girls; I would not stoop to filling my songs with generic descriptions of a doomed teenage romance.

But, looking at the lyrics, it was obvious that this entire piece was going in the direction of a sappy love song and I wondered if I should just give in. It would probably be easy to write it, I mused. It couldn't be that hard to go with it and write a somewhat happy and love struck song. Besides, not every single song had to be as morbid as mine (and Ashley's) tended to be. Maybe writing something happy would make me less angry, I reasoned, and finally felt the last wall fall down, finally giving into writing the terrible, sappy song I knew that it was gong to be. Now all I had to do was decide who to write about. I needed a muse, a source of inspiration for it.

With a startling amount of clarity, I realized that I could write about the boy who had held me back-I was sure I could draw up some sort of inspiration from him. He had a nice smile and he seemed sweet-but sweet only got you so far when it came to words. I need something about his looks... Honestly, the prettiest thing I had noticed about him so far had to have been his eyes. They were a bright, vivid green-how I had imagined Harry Potter's to look when I had been obsessed with the series. His eyes really were pretty, a light shade of green-it was just the right shade that it almost reminded me of spring... I wondered, briefly, what his name was-and was disappointed when I couldn't recall it.

Damn, I needed to learn his name. That or start calling him Peter Pan. Which reminded me-when he had been holding me back, he had not only called me a pixie but he had also called me Tinkerbell. I would have to tell him not to call me that...but perhaps I would tell him nicely, since he had saved my sister's life when he had stopped me from strangling her. That thought reminded me of my sister-and how hard she would laugh if she ever saw something like this in my notebook. She looked in it often and she would never let me live it down if she saw me writing something like this-especially so since it was inspired by a member of Big Time Rush.

But, I thought a moment later as an idea occurred to me, maybe Ashley didn't have to know about it. I could tear the page out and claim the ripped out space was a page full of too many errors when she asked about what had happened to the book. With that as an excuse, she would pay no more mind to it than she normally did when I ripped a page out. She would never see it and life would continue on as normal. I bit down on the end of my pen in thought, chest lighter as the weight of Ashley knowing about this page had been lifted from it. I chewed on my lower lip for a moment, crossing my legs at the ankles and looked at my feet without really seeing them.

My mind was elsewhere as I flexed my toes, but my my attention was caught in a second by the sparkling yellow stars that rested on them. My toenails, normally free of any type of fingernail polish, had been painted by Ashley about a week ago and were still the same green color with a yellow star on each individual toe-a tribute that she claimed was to the tractor I used to drive at home in the fields during the autumn months to bale hay. (It was hilarious because she was terrified of being near a tractor, in spite of having lived in the south for half of her life; it was one of the few things I enjoyed that she wouldn't go near with a ten foot pole.)

Looking at the polish, a different color of green (the one I had been thinking of for the last few minutes or so) flashed in my memory, as strong as the scent of the freshly brewed pot of coffee that I could smell, and I found the pen writing the words for me before I could fully think them out.

Get me with those green eyes, baby

As the lights go down,

Give me something that'll haunt me

When you're not around

Cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile.

Well, that was sufficiently cheesy, wasn't it? I glanced at my toes again, then looked to my shirt, frowning. They didn't match. Well, that sucked. I picked up my phone, typing a quick message to Ashley (Gonna change my shirt-green to match my toes) before I stood and moved to the dresser, pulling off my current shirt and opening a drawer. I pulled out a green shirt, one that would match the polish on my toes better, and put the blue shirt back in it's place as I got a reply from Ashley (Thanks for the warning. Gotta text the others). I rolled my eyes, knowing the real reason she was thankful was so she could coordinate the jewelry better with my outfit.

And if I knew her well enough-trust me, I did-I would be wearing a pair of white flips flops and a pair of yellow star wire earrings she had made herself that dangled and weighed far too much before this was over with. I closed the drawer and moved back to my bed, picking up the notebook again as I settled down back in my spot. I looked over the lyrics, musing over how this wasn't good for me, writing sappy songs, no matter how easily I had caved. This wasn't my style. I didn't do sappy songs because I didn't believe in romantic love. Love was a bad idea-but for some reason this blonde haired and green eyed boy seemed to be pulling a love song out of me.

This was honestly something that had never happened before.

I had never been inspired to write a love song like this. This entire thing was an awful, terrible idea. You shouldn't have even tried this-the only way this can end is one way and that's badly, I told myself firmly. But then my mind flashed back to the smile he had given me by the pool and the soft words he had told me outside of my door before leaving to go to his own apartment. He was a bad idea and I knew it...but there was something about him that made it easier to write this song. It was easy to forget all of the bitter lyrics and write hopeful ones when I thought of his smile or his eyes, even the shy laugh he had given by pool before our first conversation.

He was special, had the unique ability to make me forget that maybe love was a hopeless concept after all, I thought with an irritated mental sigh.

...It was almost like a light bulb appeared over my head as it clicked and I began writing the second verse-or, well, the first fourth of it.

My mind forgets to remind me

You're a bad idea.

I heard Ashley singing and then the sound of the shower turning on as I penned the words. No, a bad idea had been to try and attack Ashley-we were both lucky that he had been there to hold me back. I bit the end of the pen again and I wondered idly if he had expected me to be as strong as I was? Probably not. Randomly, the idea of a lover's touch being in a love song occurred to me and the smile that curved my lips was smug as I wrote the final half of the first half of the verse:

You touch me once and it's really something,

You find I'm even better than you imagined I would be.

A knock sounded on the doorway to my room, startling me out of writing and I looked up as my mother leaned on the door frame, looking at me curiously before she spoke. "You want some breakfast? I'm making eggs and toast if you want some." She looked at me oddly as I answered (I guessed it was because I had yelped at the knock, terrified Ashley was looking over my shoulder and at the words in my notebook). "Y-yeah. Breakfast would be great. Sounds awesome," I stammered out and she sighed before leaving the doorway with a roll of her eyes. I almost swore I heard her mutter the word 'bi polar' but I opted for ignoring the jibe calming my heart rate instead.

Holy mozz sticks, my mother had scared me. And until I finished writing this damn song I would constantly have my guard up around everyone, but especially Ashley. She wouldn't be able to see this notebook until I finished it and tore it out. Maybe I could hide it? No, Ashley would get suspicious. It would be best to finish what I could now and then tear the pages out. Patience had never been a virtue of mine, I surmised as I doodled a dagger in the margin of the page. Now, what else could I put in the song? There had to be some emotional element to it. So far it had been mostly physical and a love song was nothing if it didn't make you swoon from the onrush of emotions you experienced.

Ashley's voice (still singing-but did she ever stop?) invaded my train of thought and a new set of lyrics all but wrote themselves on the page:

I'm on my guard with the rest of the world

But with you I know it's no good.

And I could wait patiently but I really wish you would...

That would do for the verses, I decided and carefully wrote the chorus out again. Beyond that, I thought as I wrote out the last couple of words, all I needed was a good bridge and I was fine. Maybe combining the emotional and physical part would be good? Hmmm. I tapped the pen against my lips and sighed through my nose, memory wandering to me running on the stairs this morning. The song I had listened to was one Ashley had put on my iPod-Firework by Katy Perry. I wasn't too keen on her, but maybe I could use her as a musical inspiration for this part of the song. Fireworks...Maybe it could describe a kiss? Or the moment before it?

Combining the idea of fireworks and a kiss with the memory of the stairs, I formed a decent bridge:

Lead me up the staircase

Won't you whisper, soft and slow,

'I'm captivated by you, baby,

Like a firework show.'

The bridge done, I wrote the chorus out again and a few ending phrases.

The song, all in all, had turned out better than I had anticipated. Now all I had to do was rip the pages out. Carefully, I tore the pages out of the book and folded them in half. I picked up a book from my bedside table and stuck them in it randomly as I heard the shower turn off. I put my black book beside me on the bed along with the other book; it was as I lay my song book down that my mother walked in with a plate of eggs and toast, telling me that breakfast was ready. Reaching over, I slid the chapter book seamlessly under my pillow, smiling as I took the plate from her and no one was any the wiser about the song existing.

Now all I had to do was endure the rest of the day and not think about the secret I was hiding.

-.-.-

My prediction about the time limit (which had been ten minutes) before she attacked me with makeup was wrong.

The issue was that I had far underestimated her excitement for the meeting to come. After getting out of the shower, she only made it five minutes after she picked out a pair of white jeans and a cotton candy pink sweater for herself. (The horrifying part, to me, was that she had pink high heels to match it.) I had just managed to finish the plate of breakfast my mother had brought to me when she came in the room, brandishing a bag of make up and a pile of jewelry. I didn't fight her-resistance would be futile this time. I simply held my tongue and let her work her magic on me with brushes and powders.

Ten minutes later, my hair was in a French braid; I also had makeup, three sets of earrings and a cartilage piercing in my ears and a necklace to compete the outfit. I was surprised that she hadn't brought heels for me to wear, but maybe she had figured with me almost going through a wall that that would be pushing it for the day. I had to agree with her on that if that was what she thought; wearing a pair of heels would have been torture for me. She stepped back to observe her handiwork and I had to admit that she was good with makeup and accessories. I looked better than I would have if I had been left to my own devices when it came to getting ready.

Had it been left up to me, I would have worn old ripped jeans and a tee.

But then and again, I liked living and didn't much fancy the idea of pissing Ashley off by making a debacle of fashion.

A small sigh escaped and I stood, sliding my feet into white flats and telling Ashley, "Go and finish getting ready. We have ten minutes before we have to be over there." She nodded, giving me a kiss on the cheek before all but dancing out of the room on air. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my apartment key, wallet, cell phone, and iPod off of my desk. I would need those-especially my iPod to calm my nerves on the drive over to the record company. I slid my phone and wallet into my pocket along with the key to the apartment (in case we got back late) before I unwrapped the head phones from around my iPod; I plugged in the ear buds as I walked to take a seat on the couch in the living room.

Device in hand, I looked through the songs stored on the iPod and specifically selected the playlist Ashley had downloaded every song for and named "Best Boy band Songs Ever 3" (I had asked her once why she hadn't put one direction on that playlist along with BTR-I would never make that mistake again. I got a two hour lecture on how they were not a boy band because they didn't act like one and therefore were never to be added to that playlist). I selected the first song in the queue and listened closely as an upbeat tempo met my ears. All in all, the song wasn't terrible; it was a good summer song-which the title ("Windows Down") alluded to.

Eyes closed as my head leaned against the back of the couch, I had a brief flash of a music video form in my mind's eye. I wondered if I had watched it fully or seen it as a passing glance while flipping through the channels on the TV. Knowing Ashley, she probably had forced me to sit down and watch it; I had probably obliged her, thinking the sooner I did it, the sooner I would be able to leave. Three minutes watching a video and then I would have free time to do something besides humor her terrible taste in music. Well, I was paying the price now, wasn't I? I almost sighed but held it in as I felt the couch sink in gently beside me. I was tempted to see who it was-but was honestly too lazy to look.

I stayed still and listened as the next song came on-still upbeat but the message was slightly melancholy. "A Shot In The Dark" was what it was called and I listened to it just as carefully as the other one, trying to memorize the differences in the voices as they sang. There was only one that stood out particularly against the others-and it was only because the guy's voice was nasally. Sure, he could do vocal runs like he was born doing them, but damn, his voice was annoying when he sang for more than five seconds. As the song ended, I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up behind me to see Ashley looking down at me, curious. I stood, taking an ear bud out.

I listened to her with half of my attention as she asked me if I was ready to go and nodded an affirmative. She looked exasperated and I knew why-whenever I listened to music I was trying to piece together an opinion on, I kind of zoned out and looked like a zombie. "What?" I asked it defensively and she snorted, moving for the door as I came to the present fully and asked her, "Wallet, money, key card and phone?" She replied with a succinct, "Yes, mother." I kicked her in the calf lightly as I closed the door behind us and we headed for the elevator. From then until the elevator (which was oddly empty-did anyone ever even use them?) stopped and we reached the second floor, we were quiet.

I didn't really mind-silence with Ashley wasn't always a bad thing-but then as we stepped out on the second floor, Ashley made a comment that floored me. "Kendall was really worried about you when I said something had changed your mind about joining the band. How did that conversation go?" My lips parted in shock and I wondered briefly if she had seen me writing the song earlier-but no, she hadn't even mentioned the song. There was no reason to be paranoid over that. "What do you mean? He came and asked me if I was really quitting. I told him no and said good bye to him-oh, I was nice, don't look at me like that-and then came up here to strangle you."

"Which you should thank him for saving you from. You could have died," I added on thoughtfully as we stopped at the door labeled "2J". I didn't understand why Ashley smirked, not responding verbally to me at all before she knocked on the heavy wooden door. I didn't have time to ask her what her expression meant because the door opened to reveal a red haired woman on the other side. "Hi! Come on in, Katie's just finishing getting ready and then you guys should be read to go. You can have a seat on the couch while you wait. Would you like anything to drink?" As I was about to politely refuse the woman, the boy who had approached me while I was at the gym walked in, mid argument.

He was arguing with a pale skinned, dark haired boy much shorter than he was-and judging by the slight twang in his accent when he spoke, the shorter one was Logan. That aside, the argument they were having (however trivial it was) was putting me on edge. On a reflex, I glanced down at my iPod, touching the screen until the playlist was changed to Nickelback-my go-to music when I needed calming. The roughness of the music always smoothed out the edges and jagged pieces inside of me and made me a much calmer person; it was therapeutic for me. The argument continued as I changed the music and when I looked up, it was to see Logan (maybe?) gesturing with his hands as he spoke.

"I am telling you that it is not possible, James-" Ah, so that was the pretty one's name (I assumed he was the pretty one-I couldn't be sure. I would have to make the call when all of them were in the room again). I had always had trouble remembering him."-There is no way you can hate mud bogging! It's just like getting one of those weird face masks but without paying all that money-" The taller one scoffed, clearly thinking the shorter one was less intelligent. Ashley politely declined the woman's offer for a beverage and continued to watch the somewhat tame fight. I had to admit, I was curious as to how this argument had started-but was too amused just watching as they moved to the couch.

They sat on the orange couch (which the color of made me want to vomit), turning on a video game as they continued bickering.

I would have taken that moment to ask Ashley who was who but I wouldn't have been able to get her attention without scaring the shit out of her. She was completely enthralled, seeing the people she had adored from afar for so long arguing over something we had done hundreds, if not a thousand times. Interrupting my amused assessment of Ashley's current emotional state, the prettier one of the two gave a counter argument, cutting off Logan as the game loaded. "Those masks are made with avocado, not dirt, Mitchell! I am not willingly riding on a vehicle and getting mud on me unless it's beneficial for my skin and my hair-and clearly, it would not be beneficial for either-"

"Actually, mud is a wonderful exfoliant," I spoke up, moving for the couch and both boys looked to me while I took a seat next to who I assumed to be James (hadn't he said he was James yesterday when he had spoken to me?). James looked floored by my statement and said a monotone, "What?" as I crossed one leg over the other (right over left), giving the both of them a polite smile. "Well, the particles the dirt is made of are coarse and fine grained and as a result make a great exfoliant once dry and the dirt actually has more minerals and things essential for clean and healthy skin than fruit does. So if you're looking to get a good facial, mud is the way to go."

I paused thoughtfully, asking, " Do you mind if Ashley and I play? Do you have extra controllers?" Logan tossed me what appeared to be a silver one, while theirs were black. I continued talking as they added two more players and Ashley made her way over to (cautiously) take a seat by me and pick up the remaining controller. "Now, mud isn't so great for your hair-but if you want your hair to be in top form, treating it with mayonnaise would be best-which an added benefit of using mayonnaise in your hair is that it also kills any lice that may be hiding in there. But mostly it makes it shiny, smooth, and soft. A drawback, of course, would be-ah, crap! What the-Ashley! No cheating!"

She rolled her eyes at me, snorting as she muttered how it wasn't cheating just because she kicked my ass every time. Oh, that meant war. I narrowed my eyes at the television, teeth sinking into my lower lip as I concentrated on the screen and ignored the rock music still blasting in my ear. I didn't know how much time had passed when I felt someone picking up my other ear bud-I was too busy concentrating on the game in front of me and beating Ashley at it to care who it was. It could have been Santa or Mother Theresa and I wouldn't have known the difference since he/she was standing behind me. I really didn't care who it was, though-I just wanted Ashley to eat her words.

Or, well, I didn't care util the person holding the earbud spoke and scared the living shit out of me.

"Never took your for a Nickelback fan."

I screamed.

Literally. Screamed.

I had never been good with my nerves-I may have looked calm on the outside but I was a vey jittery person on the inside. Thanks to Ashley and her penchant for pranking me, I was always on guard for people trying to scare me. I had let my guard down for a moment (ironically) because of Ashley and had to reap the consequences; I wasn't prepared for the voice in my ear so my reaction was a tad dramatic, in hindsight. I screamed and jumped up, whirling around and launching the silver-which I later learned was platinum and was very special, coveted in fact and fought over-controller at the person behind me and hit the blonde boy who had held me back earlier square in his forehead.

There was a split second of ear shattering silence before the room erupted into laughter.

The blonde boy stood there, ear bud in his ear, looking shell shocked as I covered my hand with my mouth, eyes still wide and heart still pounding too hard.

And then my eyes strayed and I caught sight of everyone laughing; Ashley was gasping for air and doubled over as she all but cackled with mirth and I fought a smile behind my hand. The blonde boy's lips quirked and he took the ear bud out, gingerly handing it back to me. "Next time, I'll be in your line of vision," he jibed and I let out a short bark of laughter, dropping the hand from my mouth so both of my hands could go to my hips. The laughter was dying down and Ashley wiped her eyes, taking shallow breaths to keep her ribs from aching as she said,"Kendall, you are officially my new favorite person. She hasn't been that scared since I first met her two years ago."

Kendall. His name was Kendall. I needed to remember that, I told myself firmly and my eyes glanced around the room as I waited for everyone to fully calm down. Absentmindedly, I noticed the mother was gone from the room and we had been left to our own devices. But Katie interrupted that errant train of thought by saying, "We really should get going-come on, big brother. Before you obtain any more injuries." My cheeks went pink at the insinuation layered in her words and his smile morphed into something that resembled a smirk before he turned around to follow his sister out of the room, starting an argument with her over whether he was fit to drive or not in his "injured state".

I listened to the argument (the gist of it being that his end of the argument was that he was perfectly fine and her claim that she chose to stake was that she wasn't buying it and didn't want to risk his health and safety); Ashley ignored all of it-the arguments and the patterns of laughter around us still-and draped an arm over my shoulders, giving me a brief side hug before we headed for the door, following the small crowd of teens out of it (which, like I said before, a few members of were still laughing and I was torn on whether or not to feel offended by that). I leaned into her as we walked together and thought that, yeah, maybe being in a girl band wasn't such a bad idea after all.

And with her leading the way for the two of us, we headed for a meeting at the legendary Rocque Records.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/n:**

**Okay. This chapter is fairly straightforward. There's the meeting at Rocque records, which I have been building up to for a while. I hope it lives up to the expectations I set for it-which is only that it be good enough for the reader to enjoy it.**

**As always, read and review :)**

**(Also, not that it's entirely relevant, but there is a part in this chapter that's revenge for my best friend spamming me with pictures of Harry styles and unapologetically nearly giving me cardiac arrest as a direct result. Enjoy your heart palpitations, babe.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the characters or the song they sing in the next chapter. Not even a working laptop. -le sigh-**

"So what sort of music do you guys like?"

The question was genuine; Camille smiled at us in the rear view mirror as she turned the key in the ignition and waited patiently for one of us to answer the query Katie had voiced. I spoke up first, seeing as Ashley didn't seem to be inclined to answer. "I prefer country or rock music. Ashley is the one who likes pop music. I never was one for it." Ashley rolled her eyes and countered, "Just because it doesn't talk about getting drunk in a hayfield or scream so loud your ears bleed doesn't mean it isn't music." Camille was the one who interrupted this time, asking, "Is Big Time Rush your favorite band, then?" Ashley seemed to consider it before answering. "They're one of them. I like one direction too."

A small snort escaped and Ashley smacked me on the arm without looking away from the window she had been gazing out of. "Like them, obsess over them to where it's creepy, same difference," I muttered. And another slap to the arm, I noted passively as Ashley finally turned away from the window to glare at me. I smiled innocently at her and she rolled her eyes, looking out of the window again in a huffy silence. It left me to wonder how I had ever been afraid of someone who was clearly about as scary as a teddy bear. She really wasn't terrifying, not at all; she was just good at acting and looking like one of those Gothic people who terrified the local townspeople.

Crossing one leg over the other (right over left; it was a habit I had yet to break), I leaned by elbow against the car door and propped my chin on the heel of my hand so I could look out of the window too. There was a long moment of silence and then Camille spoke, saying, "You aren't talkative people, are you?" I could feel the grin building up on my lips. Very few people had ever been able to say that about Ashley. She was normally very vocal at any given time and the fact that she was quiet now alluded to just how nervous she was on the inside. "Normally, Ashley is a chatterbox. We're just nervous about the meeting, I guess."

Katie rolled her eyes, saying, "Gustavo is all bark and no bite. And he trust the guys' judgement. If they think you're decent people and you can sing, you'll get the job. We'll be fine." I was going to have to take her word on it, I thought as she made a right turn and the record company came into view. Katie pulled into a parking lot to the side of the building and parked the car without any trouble. I didn't get why her brother had put up such a fuss about her driving. She really was decent at it; maybe she had road rage in heavy traffic? I mulled it over as I stepped out of the vehicle and straightened my shirt. I could remember how she had fought to not have to go to the meeting; she probably did have bad road rage.

Fingers wrapping around my wrist grabbed my attention and I looked beside me to see Ashley, her hazel eyes wide with terror. Gently, I pulled my wrist out of her grip and laced our fingers together, giving hers a light squeeze. The quiet moment of comfort, however, only lasted about three seconds because a car peeled into the lot, music blaring and bass thumping like the speakers were going to come out of the car. My eyes narrowed in irritation at the four boys in the red convertible and Ashley's fingers squeezed mine. I watched as they parked next to us and climbed out of the car, the tallest one doing some sort of fist bump with the only Hispanic member of the group.

I ignored Camille and Katie walking over to the two of us and observed how the short, southern one rolled his eyes, appearing to be irritated with them on the surface (I had a suspicion that he was laughing on the inside). My eyes lingered on how he had a dimpled smile and had a passing thought about how it seemed to fit him before my eyes flitted to the fourth and final member of the boy band. He was climbing out of the driver's seat; his gaze was on his phone and he was smiling a little-at what I wasn't sure. Irritation, swift and disabling, swept through me as I realized it wasn't for me that he was smiling. I wanted him to smile like that-small and secretive, soft and affectionate-for me. I wanted to be the reason behind it.

The irritation must have shown more than the shock that followed because Ashley sighed, the sound exasperated as she squeezed my fingers. She must have thought I was irritated by the music (which had been annoying, yes, so I didn't bother correcting her). Ashley's sigh had broken the trance I was in and I would have succeeded in looking away and actually joining the conversation she was having with two of the other members (the southern one had attached himself at the hip to Camille and was unavailable for comment) had he not looked up and his eyes locked on me. The small smile curved, grew larger and his dimples deepened. I could feel my breathing hitch and had an issue with remembering how to breathe again as I looked at him.

For a split second, I didn't know how to react at all. But then I remembered how to use facial muscles and tried to smile back before turning my attention to the conversation Ashley was having with Carlos. Which, I found out a second later, didn't matter because Katie started talking. "You guys go in ahead of us and we'll follow in a couple of minutes." Her brother nodded and the other three seemed to go along like little ducklings who mimicked their mother; they followed Kendall into the building without complaint. Ashley's hand tightened on mine and I frowned, wondering what in the hell had just happened to me-and what in the world I was gonna do about it.

It bothered me that I didn't have the answer to either of those questions.

"Welcome to Rocque Records, ladies!"

We had gone up three floors to get to the right area. Once on the third floor, Katie led us down several hallways before coming to a short one that was lined with guitars and posters of old bands that I assumed Gustavo Rocque had produced and/or managed at some point. As she turned onto the hallway, she had spoken and welcomed us to the place; as we walked, she continued. "This is the place where you will sing, dance and sweat your butts off if you want to end up in these walls." Pausing at the end of the hallway, I saw a poster for a girl band called Kat's Crew. "Do we want to be on these walls?" I asked, frowning in distaste at the poster.

I had asked the question, not expecting an answer. Ashley was kind enough to elbow me in the side and say, in reply, "Yes, we do." I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to give her a smart ass comment, but Katie interrupted me. "Guys, say hi to Niall from One Direction." I glanced over, what she said not really clicking, and looked back at the poster. I was debating on whether or not the full leather suit Kat wore-I assumed she was the one in the front-was tacky or just plain stupid when Ashley's hand gripped my upper arm and turned me around to be met face to face with the pop singer that was one fifth of the world's biggest musical act since the Beatles (her words, not mine).

I was greeted with the image of faux blonde hair, a generic smile that was young and sweet, and bright blue eyes that were full of mischief. He looked harmless, really. Kind of like a kitten, I mused-and then realized Ashley still had a death grip on my arm and there was no way in hell she would ever be able to form coherent sentences. So I smiled, taking him off guard as I pushed Ashley forward a little and said, " Hi, Niall. I'm Phoebe and this is Ashley. She plans to marry you one day in the near future." Would she kill me for saying that? Yes, yes she would. But I would laugh so hard about how she turned bright red and started to stammer out an apology.

The real shocker came when, eyes locked on her, her gave her a wicked smile-a grin like the cat who had caught the canary, I thought distantly as I listened to him speak. "Well, I'm sorry that I forgot the ring, then. I'll have to get you one and propose proper, yeah?" That was it. I was officially a fan of Niall. He was my favorite person. Trying to stave off the laughter (Ashley had gone slack jawed and rivaled the color of a cherry tomato at that point ) just as much as Katie and Camille were, I cleared my throat and said, "We're here for a meeting with Gustavo, actually, so the proposal will have to wait, Romeo." His smile tightened and Camille piped up, saying, "You've worked with him?" He nodded, elaborating, "Yeah. During the Take Me Home Tour we recorded a few demos for our new album here. We had some...creative differences, though."

Creative differences? Well, that was a load of crap. How bad was this guy? Niall, from what I had learned from being around Ashley for so long, was the kind of guy who got along with everyone. So what did Gustavo Rocque have to do to piss him off? I was tempted to ask but a door opened in the small waiting area at the end of the hallway; a man, who was rather large and wearing a silver chain with a boombox pendant, said, "Niall, my man, how goes it-" Anger flashed in those innocent blue eyes and he picked up a small radio that was sitting on a table near us, launching it at the man a split second too late to actually do any damage (besides hurt the man's pride).

The door closed and the electronic device hit it so hard that it shattered into about a hundred pieces. I blinked, unsure of what to say, and he had returned back to the happy leprechaun in a split second. "Well, good luck girls. Have fun in the meeting," he said in farewell. And with that, he left, leaving all four of us a little lost in what to say or do. Finally, after a long moment of silence, a woman with smooth, dark skin opened the door. Her expression turned exasperated as she opened the door and stepped out, saying, "The coast is clear now, you guys. You can come out. He's not here anymore-and we need a new radio again. Wonderful."

The man stepped out of the room-what I guessed to be his office area-and into the waiting area, taking off his sunglasses (Realty? Sunglasses indoors?). He stared at us after he stopped about two feet in front of our little group, his expression displeased. "In case you didn't already know-which you should-I am Gustavo Rocque-an amazing producer/manager/songwriter who will make you four girls, as a group, more popular than any other producer in this town can. You made a smart choice coming here-and you are here to sign a contract with me, agreeing to be my little minions for five years in exchange for making you famous."

I didn't like the way he had said that-like we were his property once we signed the contract. I wasn't an object, a toy to be played with. He stopped speaking, seeing the anger flashing over my features, and said, "Is there a problem, pixie?" My nose wrinkled and as I went to step forward, so did Kendall, saying, "What he meant to say was that you have to sign a contract that will have certain requirements that must be met in order for you to stay signed with the record company. Not that you are actually his property because each of you are individual human beings and not objects or mythical creatures, right Gustavo?"

Looking at my livid expression, the man seemed to realize what Kendall was doing-smoothing things over for him-and waved Kendall off. "Sure, whatever, dog. Anyway. Today, we're going to do some preliminary tests just to see what you can do. If you're up to par, you get signed. If not, have a nice career elsewhere. Now follow me." Everyone followed him towards what appeared to be a room where dancers would rehearse. I stayed put. Once all of them were in the room and realized I was missing, Kendall stepped to the door cautiously; seeing my stony expression he rolled his eyes and followed me back out, standing beside me with his arms crossed over his chest.

I ignored how my heart skipped several beats as he did and focused on the others catching up; I waited for the rest of them to come to the door, Gustavo at the front of the group. Ashley's expression was again exasperated, like she knew this would happen but wasn't going to bother getting into it with me. I could fight my own battles and she was going to let me. That or she was still pissed about the whole Niall thing and wanted me to be kicked out of the group. I was willing to bet on the latter, judging by her displeased demeanor. "Is there a problem?" He asked the question condescendingly again, as if I were about five in the head, and I scowled at him.

"You owe me an apology," I stated coldly. He looked surprised; I continued. "You are a self-centered, misogynistic narcissist and unless you apologize right now, you will lose half of this group. I will not let my sister sign with an asshole like you and ruin her potential career. You need to play nice with me to get her to sign-and believe me. You need her talent. So somebody needs to be apologizing and I recommend it be you, middle aged Santa." There was nothing but silence and then- "You're out-all of you. I don't need another group of teens who think they know what's best. Besides, you four never would have been a good group anyway."

He started to walk off and spoke to the woman who had poked her head out of his office. "Meeting's over, Kelly-tell Mr. X to take the day off. And the styling team. And the-" Oh, no he did not. I went to move forward and the man flinched, as if bracing for impact-which would have been necessary if Kendall hadn't decided to do the steel tethers holding me back thing again (I sincerely hoped they attributed the redness in my face to anger). "We would be the best girl group to ever hit the music scene and you know it!" I spat, struggling against Kendall. "Oh really?" The man said, his tone still condescending. I struggled harder; I really wanted to kick him in his knee caps. Hard.

...And then I had to run my big, fat mouth.

"Really. Give me one hour and we'll not only have a name, but we'll have a song to perform. Which we will do perfectly."

He looked smug as he said, "You have a deal. One hour, pixie."

I didn't blame him; I'd be smug too.

Because, to be frank, I didn't think we could do it either.

But that didn't mean he had to know that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note:**

**So. This is part one of the hour of hell, as I have fondly come to know it in my head. I struggled with what to put in this chapter but, in the end, decided less was more. And this was the end result.**

**As always, enjoy. And then review.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own BTR, 1D, or Ariana Grande and the awesomesauce song that she recently released with Iggy Azalea. Basically, don't own, don't sue, okay?**

As soon as the door closed behind the two adults, Kendall released his death grip on me. And as soon as I was released from Kendall's grip, Ashley marched over and smacked me in the head. Hard. Really hard.

I glared at her but didn't protest, knowing all too well that I deserved it. She glared right back and, grabbing me by the wrist, pulled me into the dance rehearsal space so she could chew me up one side and down the other. And, really, what I had done was monumentally stupid. I probably deserved worse, so with a mental sigh, I listened to her as she ranted at me. "You have to be the stupidest person I have ever met! How many times have I told you that if you start to feel angry, ignore it? Ninety nine percent of the time you get mad for no reason, just like then, and you make stupid mistakes! Mistakes I have to smooth over because you can't take anger management!"

She stepped forward and I held my ground as she got far, far too close for my liking and continued to yell at me. "And not only do you run your mouth at the guy who will be our boss, but rather than keeping your mouth shut and letting someone else do the bargaining, you only give us an hour? You couldn't have said three? Half a day, maybe? You should have said anything more than just one hour because you have no clue-absolutely none-of how to dance, we have not rehearsed a single song together ever, and what do you propose we name the group? Please, pull a solution out of your candy coated ass because apparently you're just made of magic today!"

I was quiet for a moment after she stopped ranting and walked away from me, running a hand through her hair. "Feel better now?" My tone was clipped as I asked the question; it was a jibe and she knew it. She glared at me, hazel eyes warning of impending physical harm, and I rolled my eyes. "I get it, okay? I do. But yelling isn't going to fix this mess. We're just going to have to hunker down and get to work. And if you're done ranting, I'd like to get started." A small frown crossed her lips and she threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine. Fine, let's get to work on this and see if we can manage to scrape something together. Camille? Katie? Are you guys coming?"

Katie and Camille had been standing in front of the doorway, watching our interaction-and now that it was clear that there was no risk of physical injury that would be imminent, they crossed the threshold and came to stand beside us. "Before we can do anything, even the song, we need a name. We need something to unify us-so does anybody have any ideas? Do you have anything to write on, Phoebe? We can jot the names down and then take a vote once we have four or five-" I reached in my bag, intending to pull out the small note pad I had for lists and instead grabbed a small square package. I pulled it out, puzzled as to what it could be.

I was unsure of what Ashley might have snuck into my bag that I didn't know about, but the confusion was cleared as I saw the package was a green colored candy that we both loved: pop rocks, watermelon flavored. I stilled, something niggling in the very edges of my brain, the pieces struggling to fit together as I distantly heard Ashley continue talking to the other two, questioning them about how much experience they had with dancing and singing. I probably should have been paying attention but I was too absorbed with the puzzle before me to care much what she was saying. We needed a name and maybe, just maybe, this could help me make a good one if I could put something together.

A grin curved my lips as it finally clicked half a minute later and I interrupted Ashley, saying two words that would change the course of our future for the next five years:

"Pop Candy."

Ashley looked at me, puzzled, and I held up the package with a grin. "We can call the group Pop Candy. It's no more stupid than that girl band on the poster. It's catchy enough to put on a CD and it's simple enough to make a fandom name out of. There you go-we have a group name. Voila." Ashley's expression was nowhere near as appraising as Katie and Camille's were. "I hate you," she dead panned and there was a moment of silence before Katie spoke. "So we're Pop Candy? I like it." Camille nodded in agreement, oddly silent for the person I had perceived her to be.

"And now we have to pick a song."

I knew why Ashley sounded so resigned; she knew I didn't like pop music and there were very few songs I knew within the genre. What exasperated her wasn't that I would disagree with their musical choices (at this point, resistance would be futile); what exasperated her was that I most likely wouldn't know the lyrics to any of them. It would be hard to find a song we all knew, yes, but it would be harder for me to properly memorize and perform a song in fifty or so minutes.

"So, I think we should start with some of the older songs-ones that have been out for years and if we..."

With a sigh, I settled onto the floor, pulling out my notepad and getting ready to write down songs to consider.

This was going to take a while.

-.-.-

He hadn't had a good day so far; more accurately, he hadn't had a good week.

Sometimes it really sucked being one fifth of one of the biggest music acts on the market.

Sure, he loved it, but sometimes the pressure just got to him. He loved being able to record demos and do concerts and go to signings-but the not-so-fun part was when someone called him up from management and told him he needed to record a song faster or that he shouldn't be as personal with fans as he was at the signings and meet and greets. Those parts really made his now brace-less teeth grind together, made him want to scream and punch a wall because ... because he had wanted to be famous, to be known for his music, not to be a puppet that was letting someone else pull the strings and control everything he did.

Most days that was how he felt-like a pawn that was being used in a game he hadn't been told the rules to. He just went long with it for now, hoping it would get better and that maybe, maybe, he would make it out of the mess of a contract he had signed when he was young and so naive with his head above water. He doubted he would but be hoped. He could always hope.

He sighed, his head thumping against the wall beside he elevator door as his security guard stood by him, ready to fend off the fan girls who would undoubtedly be waiting outside to greet him. His mind, tired from having been recording since about four in the morning in a sound booth to avoid Gustavo Rocque, flitted back to a moment no more than a couple of minutes beforehand and he wondered if the girl-the one with those pretty hazel eyes and the shy demeanor-would have been there in the crowd. Would she have been out there, holding a sign? Or would it have been the smart mouthed girl who had pushed her towards him that would have been out there?

The elevator door opened and the smile that curved his mouth wasn't because of the thought of the crowd that awaited him.

It was an odd thing, but as he stepped into the elevator, he thought that he'd like to see the hazel eyed girl again.

-.-.-

"Maybe we could just decide on an artist first and then pick the song?"

The suggestion was frustrated and came from Camille, who now looked ready to strangle me. Twenty-five minutes had passed and there was no progress made other than the other two realizing what exactly they had walked into without knowing it. We had been debating everything from Taylor Swift to Demi Lovato and still, nothing. Nothing at all had surfaced that was useable and it was making their true colors shine through. "Or maybe she could name an artist and a song; we could let her pick," Katie snapped and Ashley closed her eyes to gather her patience again. "Fine. She can pick. Go ahead, Phoebe. Pick a song that we can all perform."

Well... that wasn't as easy as she made it sound. Who was a good pop artist that I liked? I generally liked female artists, if I liked them at all-so I would need to go with someone female and well known. Lady Gaga was out; she was a bit too weird for me. But who, then, could I suggest? There weren't many people I listened to in the pop genre that had a songs out at moment, and it wasn't like we could do anything fancy when it came to dancing. It wasn't like we could do a really complicated dance like in the song "Single Ladies" (one of the first real songs I liked in the pop genre). If only we could do one of Beyonce's most famous songs...

Hmmmm...

Startling me, Katie's phone started ringing out of nowhere, blaring a generic pop tune to alert her to a text. She pulled the phone out of the pocket of her skinny jeans but she didn't answer immediately, opting to let the song play out and then open it. In the meantime I frowned, trying to ignore the high pitched voice coming out of her speakers (whoever it was was severely annoying) and think of a song we could use... All we needed was one song to sing and I knew I would be able to think of one if Katie would just turn that damn song off, I thought irritably.

And then as it hit the chorus I finally heard the lyrics, the words striking a chord in my memory.

Head in the clouds, got no weight on my shoulders,

I should be wiser and realize that I've got-

The noise cut off and I blinked, unsure of what to think. Could that have actually been a song? It sounded so familiar... Tilting my head to the side a little, I asked cautiously, "Wait-what was that? Your ringtone, what was it?" Katie rolled her eyes, obviously thinking I was a little slow for not knowing the answer. "It's called Problem-Ariana Grande and Iggy Azalea sing it. Why?" Ashley looked torn between surprise and relief, ignoring the question Katie tagged on the end as she spoke up. "I know that one-please tell me you know it, Camille. Please." After the nod she received, the relief in the room was almost palpable.

Katie seemed to understand as Ashley had spoken and there was a brief moment of silence before Ashley spoke again.

"Well. Problem by Ariana Grande it is. Let's get to work, ladies."

Looking at the clock, I realized that about twenty minutes had passed since I had ran my mouth-and up until now, things had been easy.

Now the real work began, I thought with a grimace as I stood up.


End file.
